It’s a pansy, not a rose…ergo the apologies to Gertrude Stein who pointed out that a rose is a rose is a rose… But the “equality of real” was something from a conversation yesterday when noting with a friend that no one thing taken in by the senses is any more ‘real’ than any other thing. The local and international chaos woven of threads we can each name? Real. This pansy on our front porch? Real. The goodness of nourishing, flavour- abounding, soup? Real. The memory of a loving embrace, the dearth of hope and the sometime difficulty in summoning its seeds? Both real.

Perhaps it is a question of acknowledging the whole and choosing what to hold onto as we make our way through—not at the expense of the fullness, but rather as a way to save ourselves and each other in the midst of it. We have that choice…to live in the truth of the whole thing and to make a choice about what stays closest as we make our way…

The memory of a heartbeat
to heartbeat embrace; twelve
pounds of purring in my lap as
the first sip of tea summons
the bloom of flowers in my chest;
the feel of a smooth pocket stone; a steady rhythm
of breath and step and notice while
marveling at the physics and the physicality
of a human being in motion;
the fluctuating equilibrium of
curiosity and foresight; the solidity
of a front door swinging
out, open to the stumbling glory,
the wind, the sacrament of journey
and where it leads; all of the different
shades of blue and kinds of fog
and ways of saying I see you,
I love you, here,
take my arm, lets read
the story together
and make our way home.

Kimberly M. King