This is a slow learning,
to unclasp the grip
let hands relax
let go of trying
to hoard a share of good,
enough, perhaps
to shield me from my fears
This is a slow learning —
in time the breath grows deeper,
there are more before the gasp —
I start to find the space
to take in calm
This goodness is not mine to own,
to pull inside, to hold, to use
to stop the gaps within
Instead this goodness
is what holds me
and sweeps on through,
filling up all the emptiness,
flooding out the fear
as much for everyone
as for anyone
(me too)
slow or fast,
right here.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 13, 2017
