Your grief for what you've lost lifts a mirror
up to where you're bravely working.
Expecting the worst, you look and instead,
here's the joyfull face you've been waiting to see.
Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes.
If it were always a fist or always stretched open,
you would be paralyzed.
Your deepest prescence is in every small contracting
and expand the two as beautifully balanced and
coordinated as bird wings.
Rumi
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