I Don't Know || 2 Nov 2020

I don't know.
You don't know.
We don't know.
And that's OK.
Maybe it's even a relief.
Maybe it's a kind of sacred surrender.
I've been lugging these bags and bushels of
anger and anxiety and blame and fear
for so many months
down so many thorny paths
dragging them through the sand, looking for that solid ground that I once thought was underfoot.
Now I'm putting them down in the not knowing.
And I'm taking a seat.
I'm waiting and I'm watching and I'm praying.
And I'm loving. I never stopped loving. I'm sure not stopping now.
Maybe that's the only thing I do know:
In the end, as in the beginning, it is always all about the love.
I can rest here.
Maybe you can join me.
And we can be delighted by this not-knowing kind of love.
Maybe we can let the future come to us,
enticed into our midst
by the riotous laughter of our unknowing.