Where Life Begins

Not a path above the world,

but a falling back

into it.

The cry of a raven.
Rain on stone.
The ache in the chest.
The warmth of a friend’s hand.

Nothing left out.

Not because all is well,

but because all is welcomed.

Grief sits by the fire.
Joy wanders in with the dawn.
Uncertainty sleeps beneath the stars.

And we learn

to stay.

The old names loosen

healer,
teacher,
one who knows.

Like autumn leaves
returning to the forest floor.

What remains
is simple:

listening deeply,
speaking truthfully,
mending what we can,
walking gently.

The mountains humble us.
The rivers soften certainty.

Mystery widens.

We bow
to what cannot be known.

Compassion becomes less a feeling

and more a way of standing

heart open,
feet on the earth,
without turning away.

The body is no longer a burden.

The earth is no longer scenery.

Breath,
birdsong,
washing bowls,
splitting wood,
holding sorrow

all become one prayer.

And slowly,

without announcement,

a great simplicity returns.

No need to be special.
No need to awaken into something else.

Just this human life,

fully met.

Until even the word spiritual

falls away,

and there is only

the wind in the trees,

the ground beneath our feet,

and the mystery

of being here.