I am the queen of sorting things out.  I don’t understand much, and realize perhaps that it’s not for me to stand under anything.  Forget understanding–it’s so overrated. From war, to relationships through to Micheal Jackson and a record-breaking zombie walk–I am recognizing that I can be content without figuring any of that out.

But I do realize that I sort things out.  This goes there, that goes over there.  I’m sitting in the midst of wrapping paper and picture frames.  But it could be scraping for food from a garbage pile–this is edible, that is not.  Or this paper filed here, a note for action over there.  A friend who doesn’t call is placed in a different spot that one that calls me every day.  And then I notice–who do I call, and what makes me procrastinate there, but not here.  Sorting wrapping paper and not returning calls. 

Free to be me, and loving me enough to nudge me back to what I love.  To sit in unending love.  To feel it slowly wash over me like sunshine honey and soothing shade in a pine-scented forest.

I don’t have to understand god, or death, or tears or the squeal of fireworks, as long I as feel the Dear One, Mother Nature, Gaia, fairies, my Sweetheart’s Presence before, beneath, behind, above, at every side and standing under, me.