Not a spectacle
but a sacred passage between realms
of light
like a flower that blooms on its own time frame, then withers and blows into the wind
or a babe whose precious life lasts only a day
we can not say
we can not say
for we can not see it clearly
for what it is
but for its uncertainty
it makes our experiences precious in finite time
every moment worth grasping onto with both hands
and kissing widely
caressing gently
and promising ourself that this moment is worth remembering
even when it sucks
especially when it sucks
for such is life made of
this precious thing
over which we have no control
over which we have all control
so when the midwives guide us into the next phase
we will embrace that too
to reverence life
is to honor death
and to honor death
is to reverence life
every spider we let outside
every babe whose breaths we count
every flower we blow the fluffy seeds off of and send upon their way
life is to be experienced
not spectated
to be honored
not commodified
