What I notice when amnesia sneaks in and I begin again to claim doer-ship and control over tomorrow, doggedly pushing on, blindly following the ruts of conditioning and posing as supreme controller, is this:
Something happens to bring me back,
and, probably because I’m a gritty goer,
it happens to my body.
(Arm gets rms: can’t scribble or type,
back goes out: can’t stand at easel,
knee explodes: can’t move.)
Something makes me stop, sit, shut-up
and free-fall yet again
into the what-is of this life I call mine.
That ‘something’ is what I know as Grace.
It’s usually fierce. Definitely not fluffy.
I’ve learned to love it as my most treasured Beloved,
for it returns me to ITself.