Sometimes compassion compels us to confront, sometimes to cajole, sometimes to be silent and wait, sometimes to do or say what it would never occur to our egocentric self to do or say, for we can never say for certain in advance just how compassionate love may prompt us to act, to see, and accept within ourselves and others. Yet, in our willingness to recognize and go forth to identify with the preciousness of ourselves and others in our collective frailty, we discover our contemplative community in the intimate texture of our daily interactions with one another.
Spring comes
a smug cliché of fat buds
the earth is getting ready
to spring spring upon us
the birds are making a racket
in the bland air.
Why do I growing old
in all this abundance of life
say to death, move over,
let us sit together a moment
on the doorstep?