agape in every
when will we quiet
the chorus in our heads?
How can it be?
How can Love be present, and waiting only for the asking? How can the Presence be such a gratuitous gift? Impossible!
And yet, I have tasted the gift, and seen without seeing. I can still feel the wind tease my hair, and the surf sing to me, at Tintagel. When I breathe, and let myself be still, that is.
But all to often, I carry the corpse of my grief into each day, no matter how many times I collapse under its weight. I become lost in the cacaphony of voices that assault me from without and within. I hold so tightly to what I think I need that I forget to let go and receive what I truly require.
Yet, there it is. Love, waiting ever so patiently for me. As scandolously impossible as that is.
pondering the mystery
of agape …
when will I quiet
the chorus in my head?
Real Toads’ The Tuesday Platform (imagined by Sanaa Rizvi)
Poets United Poetry Pantry #416 (posted by Mary)