Once upon a time I believed—
at least a little bit—the fairytale
that I could count on you, Life,
to come skipping up my sidewalk
under skies sunny-blue,
knocking on my door,
wearing your play-clothes,
bringing a basket of cookies.
But clearly, ever-after doesn’t
always turn out to be so happily.
Clearly, when I answer
your knock at my door
I’m just as likely to find you
standing there dripping,
in a sodden gray raincoat,
bringing aching joints,
the drag of fatigue, family troubles,
worry for the warring world…
or maybe a downpour of frogs.
But it’s still you, isn’t it, Life?
And Life was always
the point, not “happily.”
So though you may
bring May or Mayhem
when you come,
I feel my soul tugged
and run to meet you,
opening the door full-wide…
because I know
it is for you, Life,
I am made—
for you, Life, we all are made,
blessed with the receptive
antennas of consciousness,
sensibilities and senses,
the very gifts that create
the openings
and vulnerabilities
that impel us to encounter
you face-to-face, Life,
in your every guise.
To be fully alive
I do not get to sort and choose
what I will have of Life,
to say this I will have
but not that.
To be fully alive
comes with the imperative
that I learn how to
discover the substance
of the Sacred
in everything Life brings.
And I run to open the door, not knowing.
I meet you, not knowing.
But it is always you, Life, isn’t it?
Always you, Beloved Life.
Ann Keiffer
May, 2022
Image Credit: Digital collage by Ann Keiffer
