Monday, September 16, 2019
Miracle of Grace, a short prose poem
“A miracle is simply a shift in perception.”
I have landed in the center of myself. My soul is like a precious stone cast into a deep pond causing ever-widening ripples of understanding. Does what I perceive mean anything at all? To still the mind, do I wrestle it into submission or gently entreat? Suddenly in a moment my perception shifts and a pearl of peace is felt. It must be treated gently, not clutched it tightly, but held lightly, for it is the miracle of grace.
The pond freezes in winter. Then what? There is no motion in the water. It is white, still, suspended, timeless. No reflection, just acceptance for what is as Mother Nature wields the silent power of snow, ice, and utmost stillness. This, too, is grace.
It stands on the corner where Alder and Bridge Streets intersect; the house where I spent my teenage years and from which I left when I be...
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