Little miracles

It’s the stillness that we observe

Because we feel intolerance of waiting

We bounce like a ball, one silliness to another

Not unlike a series of romantic interludes

 

While rafting in white waters

We can be swept from one swirl to another

Racing the heart perilously close to scare

Before finding a sweet flow of comfort.

 

We fall silent once more

Attend to the present

Embracing the moment

We arrive at reality.

 

We mistake our will, it’s power, as savior to attainment

Once ignorant we discover achievement, knowledge

We forget limits to our powerful striving

Little miracles carry us over the last hurdle.

 

Every step carries a gift of gratitude

Every step an act of praise

Where all our bewilderment come from

Where we bring our final homage.

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illuminations

“What is the meaning of life? That was all — a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years. The great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one.”-Virginia Woolf, To The Lighthouse