peace blooms, slowly and always

today i received a small package, and though the token inside was offered without verbal or written explanation, it brought me a sense of solace. this time has been marked by larger shifts than i am accustomed to and has left me longing for something to hold onto. for those who have offered such small tokens - just to have something to hold to -  i am very grateful.

i found this poem recently, or rather i should say, this poem found me recently, and its sentiment has not been lost. 

When great trees fall,

rocks on distant hills shudder,

lions hunker down

in tall grasses,

and even elephants

lumber after safety.

When great trees fall

in forests,

small things recoil into silence,

their senses

eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,

the air around us becomes

light, rare, sterile.

We breathe briefly.

our eyes briefly,

see with

hurtful clarity.

Our memory, suddenly sharpened,

examines,

gnaws on kind words

unsaid,

promised walks 

never taken.

Great souls die and 

our reality, bound to

them, takes leave of us.

Our souls,

dependent upon their

nurture,

now shrink, wizened.

Our minds, formed

and informed by their 

radiance,

fall away.

We are not so much maddened

as reduced to the unutterable ignorance

of dark, cold

caves.

And when great souls die,

after a period peace blooms,

slowly and always

irregularly. Spaces fill

with a kind of 

soothing electric vibration.

Our senses, restored, never

to be the same, whisper to us,

They existed. They existed,

We can be. Be and be

better. For they existed.

- maya angelou, CELEBRATIONS