The poetry of acceptance is the poetry of the monk’s bowl. Space of principled receiving. Muscular discipline that means honoring all that comes. Gray dawn and a handful of rice. The stray compliment, toothache, joy, a sunlit relationship. An old regret, a restless night, hope, a bright cloud of butterflies. To accept is to cup this moment in present palms, to stand on shifting sands, steadying the nameless within.
June 1, 2009