​​Happiness
So early it's still almost dark out.
I'm near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren't saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take 
each other's arm.
It's early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn't enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.

I received this fabulous poem from a friend yesterday.  Such a depth of love and passion and a full embrace with life...

Oh Death by Gina Puorro

​Death asked me to join him for dinner
so I slipped into my favorite black dress 
that I had been saving for a special occasion 
and let him walk me to our candlelit tryst.
He ordered a ribeye, extra rare
I ordered two desserts and red wine
and then I sipped 
and wondered 
why he looked so familiar 
and smelled like earth and memory.
He felt like a place both faraway 
and deep within my body
A place that whispers to me 
on the crisp autumn breeze 
along the liminal edges of dusk and dawn
somewhere between dancing
and stillness.
He looked at me 
with the endless night sky in his eyes 
and asked 
‘Did you live your life, my love?’
As I swirled my wine in its glass
I wondered If I understood the thread I wove into the greater fabric
If I loved in a way that was deep and freeing 
If I let pain and grief carve me into something more grateful 
If I made enough space to be in awe that flowers exist 
and take the time to watch the honeybees 
drink their sweet nectar
I wondered what the riddles of regret and longing 
had taught me 
and if I realized just how 
beautiful and insignificant and monstrous and small we are 
for the brief moment that we are here 
before we all melt back down
into ancestors of the land.
Death watched me lick buttercream from my fingers
As he leaned in close and said 
‘My darling, it’s time.’
So I slipped my hand into his
as he slowly walked me home.
I took a deep breath as he leaned in close 
for the long kiss goodnight
and I felt a soft laugh leave my lips 
as his mouth met mine
because I never could resist a man
with the lust for my soul in his eyes
and a kiss that makes my heart stop. 

we rise early, silently, in the darkness before dawn
each brush stroke of sound
a meditation on the smallest of life’s tasks:
making the bed
putting on clothes
glasses off, contacts in,
jacket and hat
the rain drums its fingers on the roof impatiently as we move about
but each actions requires attention
its own planting, blooming, and dying
 
we make our way to the dharma hall
the inhospitable nature of the world evident
our houses, our places of comfort
subject to its dominion
it is not cruel, nor kind
it is indifferent
it just is
 
lights in the hall now, brashly against the morning
there is coffee to be made
tea to be poured
the warmth of a mug
pleasant to the hands
 
each moment is a wreath, both solemn and joyful
laid at the altar of awareness
which is always falling, dying with each breath
then rising, born again
 
here we sit silently 
listening, noting, 
drifting and returning
there is love here, great love
the kind of love that soldiers and farmers know
the kinship of sacrifice and fertile soil
loneliness and yearning for refuge
all things converge in the now
we breathe
rising and falling
rising and falling
soon we will join the dance hall of life
the rushing stream
the crowded confusion
the delusion of separation 
but for now
we breathe together
and await the arrival of the newborn sun
 
—Glen Gaidos 

​When the signs of age begin to mark my body (and still more when they touch my mind); when the ill that is to diminish me or carry me off strikes from without, or is born within me; when the painful moment comes in which I suddenly awaken to the fact that I am ill or growing old; and above all at that last moment when I feel I am losing hold of myself and am absolutely passive within the hands of the great unknown forces that have formed me; in all these dark moments, O God, grant that I may understand that it is You (provided only my faith is strong enough) who are painfully parting the fibers of my being in order to penetrate to the very marrow of my substance and bear me away within Yourself. 
 
Pere Teilhard de Chardin
Le Milieu Divin   1926-27