I’m in a hospital waiting room,
scattered with lonely, anxious people
and a sense that everything is impending,
and also stale magazines.
A woman sits next to me
who is God,
writing in a journal of some kind.
“Will you hold this for me please?”
as she blows her nose.
Her handwriting is loopy but not girly,
wandering but strong, like a river
through a meadow, or even a delta
branching out in a thousand streams.
Somehow I can read it.
So much suffering, so much yet to heal.
Will they make it?
Only because I hold the universe
and the hope it gives me
do I go on, trusting
it will be all right.
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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