It is easy to listen, and it is hard.
It often crushes me with wonder.
I am helpless against this flow
of grace, of love, of a presence
miraculous, yet light as a feather,
brushing by with a faint breeze, and then,
perhaps, out of sight again. This presence
seems miraculous, but really, it is just ordinary,
I do not know how it is that we are gifted
with this... the presence of these gods,
why they visit, showering our ordinary lives,
filling our souls with fountains of light;
sweeping into all the corners our cottage,
here, in our home, with you,
sharing these blessings.
But still they asked for nothing.
This melts me. All the blessings
and still they asked for nothing.
This old couple were already, always blessed,
already enfolded in light. This drew the gods
to them. They were listening, noticing,
before that knock on the door.
Standing at the edge of the field
our poet was opening, listening;
ready for the god's visit, ready
to be shaken with understanding.
She asked for nothing, and the gods smiled
in just the same way her poem
- fountain of light showering -
smiles upon us.