That day long ago when
for a little while, I died,
thought I was going home,
no sadness, no more fear,
no clinging to what’s here.
Day and night,
the bombs had cast their light,
yet from tunnel bright
a chiming bell,
not of hell,
just a call to
the work undone.
That year I’d gone to war,
all thrumming energy,
rising above the cacophony,
struggling beneath the fear,
wishing mightily to be invisible,
knowing I had put myself there,
all the elements of ego
so visible to God,
if not to me.
Those long months in
hospital, reflecting, thinking that
some warriors fear nothing,
but this does not
make them strong.
It simply makes them,
I think,
too foolish to be afraid.
Now, when I consider
bravery, and fear,
I see the absence of one does
not define the other.
Today, I have declared freedom
from fear and darkness.
Life is always present.
Grief has had its time,
in all its untidy dress,
complicated and deep,
feeling a lot like fear.
Now, there is
less force, more flow,
less stress, more ease,
less fear, more Grace.
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