Grace and Peace to you.
I am grateful to have lived sixty years
through so many avoided disasters
and unaccomplished endings,
to have lived, and lived to tell about it,
to have loved, and to have been loved deeply,
which is is no small thing.
I am drawn through the labyrinth of years
toward the Beloved, possessed.
It is not so much a journey or a lesson,
as the receiving of a gift,
the richness of a rose still opening,
a long unfolding of love.
I am grateful to have learned
that wisdom costs, and comes slowly,
that I have been given more than I can know.
Sixty years is long enough to see
that the universe is expanding in me,
species evolving, tectonic plates moving,
creation in its eighth day.
Long enough to to have died a couple of times,
and finally begun living, long enough
to have begun to arrive in the present moment,
long enough to get over being old
for simply being here.
After these years I know less of the mystery
and trust it more, the Presence
whose revealing is my life.
My death and I grow closer every day,
and every day there is more life in me.
After sixty years so much has accrued
and been lost, there is nothing left but joy.
What is next I cannot know, but trust.
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