“What we describe as ‘our life’ is not the sum total of what has passed through our hands but what has passed through our minds.”–Stephen Levine, A Year to Live
Fingering the knots
It can be a struggle, this being alive.
At the end of the day
in darkened houses,
in the morning or mid-day
in sunlit/shadowed houses
we find time to sink into solitude
fingering the knots,
the string of moments that
shape our days:
Some strange, some serene, some
riddled with emotion.
Do we trace the threads with weary hands
Or grip them, white-knuckled with regret?
Do we let the precious strands slip
Carelessly to the floor, becoming
lost in blank reverie?
Or do we simply hold this collection of tiny, curious, textured knots,
do we hold them close and celebrate
this being alive