The Grapplers

I want to live with the grapplers, not the knowers.
I want to be open to the what-ifs, not the no-nevers.
I want my feet solidly placed on the green grasses of spring
without fighting against the inevitable browning in fall.
I want to trust what isn’t changing in the rocks below.
I want to take flight in my imagination while tethered
to the reality of Being.

What, my friend, does this stir in your wanting?
Nothing? Or
Everything in between?
Or do you feel a knot in your throat, a stave in your heart so tangled
and hurt that you can’t hear or see your wants,
or your wants as worthy?

Well, love that too.
Love you with or without wants, or worth, or understanding.
Love this in as small portions as you can, or
be bold
and sit at the feast-table already prepared for you
by the Shepherds.
But love.

Love the grappler and knower in you.
Love the scared and confident you.
Love what is under your feet and above your head, and
everything in between because
you are Loved and Love.

*The Grapplers ©twyatt 2023. A peek at a poem from the next book: Rose Petals.

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