Sometimes when I am blessed by someone on the street for handing them a dollar, I tingle so much inside, I don't know what to think. It is like God really is in there, re-arranging my bones.
I don't have answers. I know today I need to sit under a tree, close, right next to the trunk, and on the roots.
I think now of the book The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. "Once there was a tree that loved a little boy."
And perhaps that is all that needs to be said. Perhaps my epitaph should say, "Once there was a bag of cells who gathered in love, for love, and to love." May that be the not-me that is me.