The Story is Grace

There is something exquisitely okay
about the story appearing now.
The yes to what is,
is so powerful and so solid,
whatever appears
is drowned in its own source.

A heart might be burning with perceived harm,
a head might be dreaming of devils and angels,
and all the while, the center doesn't move.
There is no flinching at flinching.
There can't even be a sliver of a crack in what we are.
Separation is the muse of the inseparable.

Even resistance is unresisted.
Inside what appears to be a no!
is the supreme YES,
always here
always being and allowing,
a soft caress in a hurricane.

Nothing can be rejected anymore,
not even rejection.
The appearance of a "me" is not a problem.
It never was.
How could a phantom cause any harm?
To whom?
To what?

There is only delight, loving-to-be.
Tears of joy
and of pain,
the shivering of fear
and excitement,
all hold the same revered status.

Immense gratitude arising for the story,
which is simply Being, story-ing.

There has been no gift given,
to be thankful for..
and yet
we could say that THIS is one
deeply unfathomable,
enormously compassionate,
fantastically love-ing

Love loving Love loving Love loving Love loving Love loving Love loving