J U L Y
Now that I am old my thoughts no longer hold the certainty they had, instead they open like a river delta does, spreading to the sea, slow calm channels where grasses bow and water birds float and dive and make their homes. The torrent of my beliefs has eased, thank God, and I no longer need to convince anyone of anything. You and they will find your way.
I only want to say how good it is and how good you are, as you try to make things better, how good it is that this is the way it is, and that we are not alone and never were, the same water flowing to the sea and lifting us to the clouds. It is beautiful that we have been made like this, out of mud and air, made so finely that our eyes can shine with the dearest love.
There is nothing to be afraid of.
This may be the best, the most important job we have: to assure one another that each of us is loveable, and that mercy softens every fall. Death, after all, is a fine homecoming.
As I age and slow I wonder if my life has any meaning left. It does! Meaning beyond the need for meaning, this one that drenches me with thankfulness. I am not at war with a meaningless void. There is no need for meaning, here where we glisten like raindrops in the sunlight, each drop a prism.
Something unspeakably good is shining here, some generosity so quiet and nonchalant it leaves no trace of itself yet appears as you and me and every moment created and left behind, nothing ever personal yet everything always intimate.
Mountains slide into the sea, even oceans wave goodbye, and we are not what we seem. My mother died and poured herself into my emptiness. My father followed. I join them, even now.
So shall we walk together, you and I, and watch the evening sky turn into stars? Shall we talk together about what we think is happening? It doesn’t matter if what we say is true. God after all is too holy to know, and we can be content to say our hearts have no edge and leave it at that.
Look how we are made of the warmest light! It loves us without any words.