Someone asks me if I’m happy.
How do I answer that? How do I even know?
For sure, I’m delighted to be being breathed
by this generous, universe-spanning force
that we call life.
Excited, as always, to taste the oats and fruit
my spouse proffers. Inspired by the performance
of lilies and roses in their vases, cut off, but valiant
to make the best show they can, while they can.
But my friend sobs in my arms because her sister
has died, and I am not untouched, my own tears spring,
although I’m convinced she will meet her again,
many times.
Wind is gusting hard outside, knocking over the trees,
starving dogs slink past us on the street, scavenging,
while bad news blares from every quarter of the globe.
How can I be happy when beings I belong among
are not? How does it help if I join their grief?
My sister, Faith, consoles us all, urges us to
let ourselves be loved, let ourselves love,
reminds us all compassion is a silken treasure.
At last I answer, yes, I am happy,
and also filled with grief,
bursting with life, but dying in each moment.
I am all the things that everything is
because we are one Being.