Life

 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