all the pieces

in the road, wreckage. and
in the road, a way through. and
in the road arms spread wide,
smile flying quickly to my release, conjuring a huge mass here swelling,
forming, shaping my soul, etching out the hieroglyphics of hope,
mushrooming gratitude in the middle of endless obstruction after obstruction,
growing this enormous shaping hand digging out the muck, carving out stories
in spite of loss, in spite of hands, arms, feet, all tied up into waiting, waiting, waiting
in spite of every reason to be bitter, this forming something wonder etches out
a song within
a song
not for outcomes or thy-will-be-dones or anything
but the engulfing wonder of a moment
just one moment when the arms embrace
and the words utter something more powerful than all the pieces scattered ’round,
telling, showing, growing something bigger than a wreck,
daring all the pieces melt into ground, the vast  field of all that’s been and all that is,
insisting that wreckage take a backseat, in fact, go take a flying leap
in the face of love…

(my response to an impossible day in the middle of an impossible life that is overflowing with shocking richness in spite of it all, a day that culminated into a moment with my eldest son jumping out of his dad’s car one more time for another hug – in spite of the naysayers insistence such things do not happen after the age of 8 – and words, experiences that make this whole big relentless planetary madness worth it all. love is all we have folks…and it makes all the pieces sing new songs of wholeness…)

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I live... for love... for truth that liberates... for growth... for beauty... for intelligent, soulful connection and so much else.

4 thoughts on “all the pieces

  1. Oh what a beautiful moment that makes everything else, mundane, worthwhile, JRuth! My grown son still hugs me. It’s true. They are somehow attached to Moms. My daughter sends me knowing looks and whispered thank yous. Love this writing.

  2. Oh, what a sweet indrawing of breath, an uplifted spirit. love among the ruins that we are, human and failing and faltering.
    we are hoisted aloft on the wings of this love…and indeed, it IS all we have.
    let us be vulnerable, and open to the things which can hurt us…
    and let us love
    and love
    and love.
    (My 13 year old boy…still hugs me…still says “I love you” last…it’s all good, my friend…)

    1. thanks for adding your beautiful witness to this, jane. my son is almost 13 and hugs me often. this hug was extra special and an especially healing spontaneous moment in, yes, the middle of the wreckage and a particularly excruciating day. it is. all. good. hugs…

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