Loving Roots

I sometimes forget in my quest to touch or mend or heal the world around me that I am a part of that world. The lesson of being kind is infinitely more difficult when we must apply it to ourselves.

Being Southern Somewhere Else

Fingers and gaze.
Dual sense of touch,
Of seeing and being seen.

This is my body, here
Beneath hand and eyes.
Unflattering signs of life, lived.

But why should I recoil?
This flesh has carried me
Secure through decades.

Has responded well to pleasure,
Endured pain, and stayed
Its course through fevered storms.

I must love this body
To truly know it. Love it
As it is, now and here.

For this is the anchor
Of all that I am.
This flesh is in some way

The roots of the numinous.
Form for that which is formless.
Seat of a marvelous awareness.


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2 thoughts on “Loving Roots

  1. Continued…accept ourselves. Our weary bodies, “personalities”, our real selves. Personally I find that hard, but as we are all just parts of a great cosmos.

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