Mary Oliver wrote this delightful tidbit in her book of poetry entitled, Evidence.
We Shake with Joy
We shake with joy, we shake with grief.
What a time they have, these two
housed as they are in the same body.
On this day, two days before we will sit around a table laden with food and surrounded by family, I ask myself, "What else is shaking in this body of mine?"
Well, there is a little bit of extra skin and fluff where my yet-to-be-born babies hung out for a few months many years ago.
There are the bags under my eyes, some due to age, most due to the countless tears that used to occupy them but have since soaked the front of many a tee shirt and bathrobe.
There are a couple hundred dreadlocs that hang nearly halfway down my back these days.
There are quivers up and down my spine every now and then when I think about the dreams that are yet to be fulfilled and the challenges that will undoubtedly try to stand in the way of their realization.
My head is shaking back and forth as I marvel at both the blessings and the obstacles that are my joy and my lot in life.
Friends who send packages to my children (thanks a ton, Lisa!).
Friends who travel miles to sit with me and cry (Karen, you are THE BEST!).
Friends who send songs and stories and hugs and kisses and dreams and hopes and support and advice and all their wishes for what is yet to come.
Even the silent friends, the ones who don't write or call back or do any of the things that I wish they would do, even they bring a smile to my face.
Even the distant ones, the ones who seem to have disappeared from my life completely, you still have a space in my heart and soul and mind and spirit. You always will.
Perhaps it is time to stop shaking.
Perhaps just for a moment I will sit here,
close my eyes,
still my fingers and my thoughts,
take three deep breaths,
remember that I am safe, I am loved, I am at peace
thanks again, Lisa, for that timely note)
and give thanks.