Passage Twenty-five: How We Can Do
I had searched high and low, repeatedly,
For my tennis shoes before I found them.
This time I am sure Cindy hid them
And then put them in the den
By the chair I had been sitting in.
I am not only absent-minded.
I am oblivious to much,
But I do not think I am alone in that.
I think I look too hard, sometimes,
But not carefully enough.
The mechanics and the building blocks
Of consciousness and creation
Were things I once thought I cared about.
One may come to understand such things,
But one does not care about them,
And they do not care about you.
What we are in the midst of,
What is unfolding,
Is not mechanical. It is deeply personal.
It has been a revelation to me
How personal this all is,
How much creation involves
Individuals who are caring.
There are everyday wonders,
Almost miracles.
There is light and warmth
In instances and moments.
There is being shown and being shown
And being whispered to by angels.
There is no proof, but there is evidence.
It does not matter
If you think I am a fool.
It does not matter if you are right.
Within the limits of my limits,
With the little I have had
To work with,
I have become more loving
And more generous.
From a few loaves and fishes,
Famished thousands were fed.
I do not believe he meant
To show what he could do.
I believe he meant
To show how we can do.
There comes a point
When for yourself is not enough,
And you bring forth out of love,
And for no other reason.
