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Monday, November 2, 2015

When S**t Gets Real

The shit gets real when
your mother asks if you've thought about
what you'd like done if you die.
I'm thinking about it now.
But I don't plan to die,
not yet.
Not my body.

My body is
Strong,
Healthy,
Alive,
pulsing with
Love,
pulsing with
Trust,
pulsing with
Hope,

despite signs
from outside
that signal
fear,
doubt,
despair,
darkening days.

My body will be safe and sound.

The rest of me...
As I crunch leaves on the sidewalk
I know death is
imminent,
necessary shedding,
allowing fallow time
to gather strength for
Regeneration.

That shit is real.

I put my faith in the trees
that know more life than I,
in roots
reaching
for the Center,
in limbs
outstretched
towards Expanse,
towards Light.

I put my trust
in the lesson
that dying is not
an all-or-nothing deal.

I look to the mystery of
What Is To Be
that I cannot see
until it is,
or sometimes
long after.

I believe
in yellow
in orange,
know that these are
within me,
will fall away
as I stand strong,
my core
intact.

I believe
in green to come.

That shit is real.