Today is the fourth anniversary of my mom's death. I miss her sometimes so much my bones hurt. This poem helps me remember that all of my life - the grief as well as the joy - is food for the great feast of life itself.
Sometimes the way in is a song.
But there are three ways in the world: dangerous, wounding,
To enter stone, be water.
To rise through hard earth, be plant
desiring sunlight, believing in water.
To enter fire, be dry.
To enter life, be food.