How do I hold it all, my life
Gently, tenderly, angrily, pityingly
Knowing it hangs, like an ill assorted, loose fitted garment
The weave and pattern
Complex, changing, or running together
Like a huge jigsaw puzzle Randomly tossed by life
Dense and dark in some places But always with light filtering through
Put this way
I don’t even need to hold it
I don’t even have a big enough container
Just my being present to each fragment of experience
Allowing it to filter through my being
Staying open to the fluency of shifts and changing interpretations
Knowing clearly my time span is limitlessly limited
—Jean Lopez
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