Thirty-two years of marriage
to the woman who fills my heart
with hope and joy and love.
We celebrate in Ashland, Oregon,
in spring with buds on every side,
a creek running down the rocks,
walks in Lithia Park with curious deer
and gracious people all around,
poking up their heads into the sun,
emerging from a long night
and blinking to see familiar things,
things we thought might not reappear.
My hope this spring is more cautious
than all the other years, but it remains intact.
The future is more mysterious and uncertain;
where I will live, what I will do,
how I might find my place in the Flow of things.
All my roads now seem to be those least traveled by.
It’s not the same old, same old, any more.
What came before has faint relation
to what’s coming next.
Old maps are folded up.
(remember folded maps?)
No moving blue dot upon a screen
can tell me where I am right now.
So I must look to Sources long believed,
but seldom really trusted.
Unseen Realities, Deeper Truths,
Ground of Being waiting patiently,
knowing all roads lead Its Way.
Certainty has always been an illusion,
powerful and dominant,
but ever failing at the last.
Navigating uncertain times is what life
is truly all about.