I remember when I felt I was myself and mine alone.
It was important.
I imagined the world’s boundaries were mine to overthrow.
I was the constant.
I cherished paradigms and codes so freshly set in stone
I was ignorant.
The only thing I really knew was how to never leave you,
And even that was marginal.
I was so unaware how the Divine is infinitely shrewd.
Through you, he is so tactical,
And patiently he crushed so many of my sacred truths,
A cage I thought was practical.
So often it’s the case that only when enough life lies behind us
Can we see the path he’s made.
Just now I’ve started seeing how much of me has already turned to dust,
How much needed laid to waste.
To welcome every scrape that comes from you, I’ve learned to trust,
What it removes is much more than replaced.
It could sound like a lament if heard without time’s thankful understanding.
How much is found when we finally lose ourselves.
How much of me has come from you, my friend, beyond all quantifying,
So much more good than harm to tell.
There is no line to draw, no place to mark our thorough intertwining,
And no wish to find where my defenses fell.
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