I pause in meditation to give God an opportunity to love me more fully,
for which, I imagine, He is grateful.
He looks me over:
the way the skin holds to my arms and legs, my posture,
the holes between the bones, my ruminations on yesterday’s shreds,
the many loves of my one life, the utterly faithful moments,
the great deviousness and cunning, the pure haphazard.
He blesses every sinew,
wrests new cause for joy from every crevice.
He looks on as – what?
Father to His child?
Mother to Her child?
Artist to Her work?
Tree to Its leaf?
Universe to its atom, atom to its universe?
Breath to its mouth?
Music to its notes?
Like none of these things.
The wind rattles in the trees.
The earth turns around an eyelash.
OM SHANTI SHANTI SHANTI