I am not the same woman I was two years ago, last year . . or even six months ago when I held stubbornly to the belief that I "knew" the answers would come . . that if I was good enough, listened close enough, believed hard enough . .then I could hold the keys to the kingdom. I would be whole. I would have everything I ever needed to survive, to be happy. And although I noted the Small Good Things when I wasn't busy looking for the Major Jackpot (and I don't even play:) . . I was preoccupied with certainty. I needed to know that I would be okay .. that economic security could be wrapped up in a neat little package, that I would still see tomorrow the same things that I saw today, that I could intellectualize my way out of an emotional squeeze.
And then I began to see Small Good Things . . speckles of life, sparkles of hope.
A soft peach cotton shirt, a smile from forever, holding hands, noshing pastries, sipping coffee, sharing tidbits.
I am in transition . .or maybe it is translation. The beauty of life is unfolding right in front of those little windows of light that still allow me to see. Small Good Things.
"I humbly opened my hand . . . I let go. Lay the hand open. The sun slides across old hairline scars. My palm holds light."
