In your meditations, did your prayers
ever wing across the road
and sweeten your neighbor’s tea,
the neighbor who wronged you?
Did you pause one morning before dawn
to gaze at pulsating stars, finding one familiar,
thousands never seen before?
Did you laugh, perennially, when the first warmth
of the year captured you, windows down,
sunroof wide, wind whipping your hair?
Do you remember that winter-weary day
when women, men, and children smiled at you, unbidden,
and you could not help mirroring their beautiful mouths?
Do you remember weeks of grief,
when your hurt heart kept beating—barely—
when someone listened graciously—one more time?
How often did you worship the gremlins of worry and anxiety,
awakening to their chaos at 4 a.m.?
Or did you remember to breathe in a wave of peace,
to remain faithful to the god of sunrise?
If you could, would you choose your life again,
having glimpsed lost children, broken bodies,
atrocities, and accidents, holding tight
to your own humble years of sorrow, grace, endurance?
Have you accepted and lamented your humanity as the tilting world it is?
Have you celebrated your goodness by wild dancing in the night forest?
Have you learned to hear the bees sing? The ants chirp?
In the cosmos of infinity will you remain a steady light?
Please consider before you go.