Everything That Lives is Holy

Windows
Bowls
These are the things that call
Me to and through and in
Possibility
Illusion
What is true
Not what was true
Nor what will be true
I filled my bowl with tears
Then broke it
And all that was sorrow ran out
The emptiness became a space
To fill anew
Carefully
Careful of what I put inside
Aware now of the damage
But empty for the filling
None the less

I watched from the outside
Looking up into the window where
The drapes were pulled back
And I saw into what looked like my soul
It made me sick
To see how sick it had made me
How hard it was to be inside
Looking out through the dirty window
And how much time I stood at the window
Looking in
I met my eyes through the glass
And said “everything that lives is Holy.”
And inside I awoke

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2008...lost in blog editing/draft land until now...(“Everything that lives is holy” is something William Blake wrote and was the inspiration for this piece.)