Being special is different from what I was taught

Like all human beings, I want to know that I am special. I was schooled to earn this state of grace by being different:  by standing out, cultivating individuality. Excelling. At all costs, avoiding the ordinary.

At some point in my healing and awakening, it occurred to me that we are each an ongoing special event. That is, we are each a unique archive of happenings and choices, blessings and curses: circumstances, encounters, people, places, words, fragrances: beautiful and plain permutations that cannot be replicated.

Life happens and we choose.

On the one hand, irreplaceable specialness everywhere. And on the other, nothing out of the ordinary.

A great angelic tenderness arises when I walk through the world with this vision.

 

traveling with Angels, or

on the verge of tears

by Sara Eisenberg

 

every once in a while, an Angel descends,

or perhaps rises up within.

eyes peer out through the heart,

the cityscape vibrates with saturated colors,

and the plain beauty of strangers crossing

paths, intent on some other

street corner that says

“home.”

 

i dodge a plastic cup blowing across my path,

a guy in cap and tee-shirt dodges traffic.

the post-office clerk takes time to show me the proper way to handle the various stickers involved in sending certified mail.

a bass rhythm shakes my car as i pull up to a red light.

 

Tenderness, that’s her

name.


Banner photo: Superstitions II, Alicia Armstrong. Eno Gallery, Hillsborough, North Carolina

More poetry: http://www.alifeofpractice.com/musings/transition-and-mischief-makers/

http://www.alifeofpractice.com/poetry/women-friends-come-bearing-gifts/

 

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