The process of becoming is also death.
Death to what was, to nothingness, to otherness, to pride,
to expectations, to dreams, to self.
To make room for the existence of tangible
things, transformation, purpose.
They’re two sides of the same coin
In order to be, what was before can be no
longer
Seems simple … but there’s a grit to it.
[There's] a truly human aching in the very tension of the process.
To welcome the potter’s firm hand in both the moments of formlessness
and formation.
To respond to each jolt of the Shepherd’s goad
in surrender of one’s own clouded vision.
To grin and bear the cut and slice and trim of the gardener
at the death of what you presumed growth.
What grief is that? And yet, what hope.
•
So, may I have grace in the dual tides of becoming and unbecoming.
May all that I am be joyfully washed away in
this season of metamorphosis.
May I hold the same admiration for myself
as I did this little leaf in the thick of the process ...
... alive in its death, impactful in its very undoing.
*[Kaytlynn Knyfd an exuberant, lively insightful young friend on Facebook.]
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