Gifts from the Universe

Sage in bloom in my garden a few springs ago.

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GIFTS VI. June 8, 2015

The spirit of an artist’s gifts can wake our own.  The work appeals, as Joseph Conrad says, to a part of our being which is itself a gift, and not an acquisition.  The Gift.  Lewis Hyde

How many years left?  We never know.  I tell

myself twenty-three, but who knows?  Even

twenty-three is not very many.  So far my

body and mind hold me together.  Seventy-seven

isn’t young, but I don’t feel old yet.  My aging

has been gradual, gentle, graceful.  I rest

more, but I work steadily to prepare books

for publishing and write new ones, too.  I

grow food, care for the plants, trees,

creatures, earth where I live and flourish.

I work with others, too, for justice and 

well-being in our communal life.  Always

the battle: good versus evil.  Let my life

help the good, strengthen its place among 

us.  Let me learn and keep on learning.

Let my life be a beacon to help others see

and understand more than they did before,

lift the smog that obscures the view of cynics.

Let me praise those who quietly do their 

best without fanfare.  Let me reveal in my

writing the foolishness and wrong-footednes

of the evil-doers, but not forget their

humanity.  Let me drop all stereotypes

and glib pronouncements and see beauty 

and honesty wherever it flourishes.  Let me

face my own problems with wisdom,

courage, and humor, and imagine the

difficulties of others.  Let me be patient

with myself and my body and mind.  Let

my wisdom increase and my foolishness

fall away.  Let me treasure each day, each

creature, plant, being I encounter.  All 

our gifts are precious, and we, mortal

and flawed though we are, are also gifts

from the Universe, which we inhabit

long enough to leave behind us what

may be cherished when we’re gone.