Seven

The flip side of lost, is found. The flip side of end, is beginning. It feels important to witness both. They go together. They always have. This morning, I reflect on a hunk of important time.

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Seven

Seven years ago
we chose
together.

With dreams.
With friends.
We were moved, together.

Sadly, those dreams weren’t enough.

What we also had,
both of us,
were not-resolved-enough wounds,
oddly amplified,
in our together.

I will remember
that we were important
in each others lives.

Perhaps, we lived into what we could.

Now,
that chapter of life is clearly over,
to be tucked into other old experiences,
remembered,
but also released.

Remembered for the path created together.
Remembered for the learning.
Remembered for the love.
Remembered for the pain, too.

But also,
released,
for the medicine
of release.

Seven years is what seven years is.
Enough.

It’s time to release into
the simple joy of
gentle breeze in morning,
just for the way it feels so kind and curious
on my legs and face.

And the joy of
the fog that lifts
clearing sight
for utterly good human being,
with ample love,
for self, for other, for memory,
and blessing.