Your grief for what you’ve lost lifts a mirror
up to where you’re bravely working.
Expecting the worst, you look, and instead,
here’s the joyful face you’ve been wanting to see.
Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes.
If it were always a fist or always stretched open,
you would be paralysed.
Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding,
the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated
as bird wings.
Rumi
that’s beautiful, Linda. Thank you. hope you’re having an amazing time! Mx
Thank you for your continuing gifts of Rumi
He really is an extraordinarily insightful poet.
Malcolm