Love letter # 118

It was your kindness that drew me to you. So clear, so simple, stark against the scrawl of everything else.

In a world loud with selfish empire, with crude grasping and mean denial, scratched with the arbitrary markings of tribal assertion, it was your gentle gift. Offered without fuss. Untrumpeted.

In this ugly squall of petty theatre, of entitled noise and bigoted blaming, of righteous cruelty and easy excuse, it was the welcome in your eyes. This hearth of yours, kept warm.

While dog eats dog, and we race, blinkered, to the very bottom, you stand aside. I see you every day, at all hours. Even when my gaze is distracted, I am but a blink away from the vision of you. Quiet grace, ocean of mercy.

You held out your hand, not as rescue, but as union. This, I knew at once, was the great vehicle. The compassion that dissolves the grit of good and bad. Tears up all contracts. Ignores all caveats.

You never asked where I came from, what I owned or aspired to. You ran but one filter. Kindness.   

Now, as ever, I love you because you make space for the imperfected acts of my loving. Because you do not box them, nor claim them for yourself. As right, as status. You simply nurture them – and when you receive them in return you welcome them, not as your due but as plenty.  

How fortunate we are; that we should have this harvest when so many stay hungry.