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This sense that something went wrong. The sense that we have fallen and taken the world down with us. The sense that all might have turned out better had she not made some colossal mistake in the beginning. The sense that nature disapproves, and every flower is shouting about the impending cataclysm because a dark mother tasted the fruit of unbearable joy. Dear friend, don't you know that humans hesitate and cower before uncertainty age after age, inventing this story again and again? It's how we feel when we don't know how to breathe, when we don't know how to pause between heartbeats, to savor the delicate bouquet of this moment. Some say heaven will appear when this tribulation is over. I say heaven is an infinitesimal grain of silence at the tip of your exhalation, just before you receive the gift of another breath. Meet me here. We'll dance barefoot in the garden where nothing ever went wrong, and there was only one tree, whose roots went deep into the loam, whose branches bent down with clusters of ripening sweet stars, and a sparkling serpent spiraled up the spine of the Goddess. The serpent was Wisdom. The Goddess was Eve. She marveled at the dust in the palm of her hand, blew upon it, and created a Man. - Alfred LaMotte Joy does not arrive with a fanfare on a red carpet strewn with the flowers of a perfect life joy sneaks in as you pour a cup of coffee watching the sun hit your favorite tree, just right and you usher joy away because you are not ready for her your house is not as it should be for such a distinguished guest but joy, you see, cares nothing for your messy home or your bank balance, or your waistline joy is supposed to slither through the cracks of your imperfect life that’s how joy works you cannot truly invite her you can only be ready when she appears and hug her with meaning because in this very moment joy chose you - Donna Ashworth Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota, Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass. And the eyes of those two Indian ponies Darken with kindness. They have come gladly out of the willows To welcome my friend and me. We step over the barbed wire into the pasture Where they have been grazing all day, alone. They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness That we have come. They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other. There is no loneliness like theirs. At home once more, They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness. I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms, For she has walked over to me And nuzzled my left hand. She is black and white, Her mane falls wild on her forehead, And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear That is delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist. Suddenly I realize That if I stepped out of my body I would break Into blossom. - James Wright
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