“Remember,” something whispers in me,
“if Jesus was right, life is not a headlong rush
Nor a tedious round of worship, law-following
And casting judgement like hybrid seeds.
Life is a laughing and rambunctious pacing together
Sitting still and smiling as the wedding feast wheels by,
striding into the desert to face all the parts of yourself,
Sleeping in the storm-tossed boat,
Drawing in dust with a fingertip,
Weeping and praying in the Gardens of your reality.
There are no written words here, where you touch
the fabric of the mind and body that God gifted you with—
only the conviction that such things are good, very good, indeed.”