Beneath All Trouble, Oneness

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When I saw the wheelchair man

with spindly limbs twist his neck to the sun,

I wanted to take the newborn from the blanket

and put her in his hands.

And when the blind woman knelt at the stoplight

to hug her dog, I wanted to embrace everyone

who ever showed me an inch of truth.

There is less and less between heart and world.

In the morning, I am sure

this is a deep blessing.

By night, it seems a curse.

In time, our pains in being here

crack open into a soft wonder

that no one owns.

I notice everything now, and more,

I am everything I notice.

Like one who suddenly sees while staring,

I now know love, though I have been loving.

To watch the sun rim your face,

your head in my lap, while small birds sing—

I could have died there on that bench,

but want so much to live.

Can it be—

as blood needs veins to do its work,

love needs us?

A Question to Walk With: Describe one way in which you are more sensitive than you were a year ago.

This excerpt is from my book, The Way Under The Way: The Place of True Meeting, 2016 Nautilus Award Winner.

For more poetry for the soul, click here.

For more by Mark Nepo, click here.