Primitive religion is not believed, it is danced!

Arthur Darby Nock

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

Elizabeth Browning

Monday, August 14, 2017

Beautiful mystery

Most people don’t die at once… they died a bit at a time.
People die in bits and pieces.  A series of petit morts.  Little deaths
They lose their sight, their hearing, their independence.
Those are the physical ones.
But there’re others.  Les obvious, but more fatal.  They lose heart.  They lose hope
They lose faith.  They lose interest.
And finally, they lose themselves
                                                                        Louise Penny, A Beautiful Mystery

we die a little bit at a time
the path we have trod is littered
with bits and pieces of our very self

we trod, and trod, and trod
moving toward that grand death
but dying each moment

becoming less
a ghost

the walking dead are among us

there are times we wish it were simply over
that we could fade away

but there are other times
when we glimpse that fact
that each ending can become a beginning

perhaps the birth won’t be easy
it rarely is

but in each ending is the seed of
something new

it may be quite different from what
we asked for
or imagined

and we may fight both the death
and the birth

but death is only death
for those who hang on tightly to the old
and refuse to welcome what is next

even as we die and die and die again
we are merely waiting to be born

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