Sit here and shore up, lotus-like, suspended on the cusp of reality, on the tide-line, the meeting place. Open your eyes to the hand full of rasping grains, how many are there? A beach full of Abraham’s descendants, a palm crossed in gold. Hold and desist from your counting, your measuring, your feeble attempts to understand. Simply let go and settle as the sand flows through your fingers, knowing everything that floats here to you on the waves is gifted. Everything is welcome, for a lifetime or a moment, each piece of jetsam has its place and purpose. Sit with open hands, lifted, open mind, waiting, open heart, ready to receive.
Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015