Each Name Called Came

Feel yourself held by them.

Their presence magnificent, holy, and alive.

Call them during sacred destruction and decomposition; 

when we think we miss the being we broke up with, 

when we pick at emotional scabs,

when we confuse ourselves by saying maybe it was better before,

though the endings were inevitable, 

the shattering and crumbling are the heart-seeds that will germinate,

falling apart is a sacred, burning act that can be encountered purposely.

The liminal space between winter and spring is eternity treading eternity, one that can feel agonizing and utterly lonely.

Cry for them during beginnings, 

when we are timid and green,

when we may not have fully rested before we begin again— this lesson of rest must include our ancestors, as rest is a generational conversation—

when we are hopeful and eager,

when we are aware and heeding,

when we promise ourselves that this time, we can take up the room we need.

Come visit us, we say, 

Spend time with us, we pray.

Take up room with us; remind us what fully devoted means.

The mouth of the Cosmos opens, and the ancient, wise ones fly to us, and the other ones were here all along.

Not one is late or absent, 

Each name called came.

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