sharing – Méia Jacobs

When Giving Is All We Have

Alberto Ríos, 1952

One river gives

Its journey to the next.

We give because someone gave to us.

We give because nobody gave to us.

We give because giving has changed us.

We give because giving could have changed us.

We have been better for it,

We have been wounded by it—

Giving has many faces: It is loud and quiet,

Big, though small, diamond in wood-nails.

Its story is old, the plot worn and the pages too,

But we read this book, anyway, over and again:

Giving is, first and every time, hand to hand,

Mine to yours, yours to mine.

You gave me blue and I gave you yellow.

Together we are simple green. You gave me

What you did not have, and I gave you

What I had to give—together, we made

Something greater from the difference.

(Source: https://www.poets.org)

And in giving… We find us. And in giving…. Joy arrives. And in giving… We remember.

Her heart sang notes of joy in the morning as she watched him go back to sleep. He closed his eyes. So sweet, so pure. Oh, how she knows better now. Things have changed. She understood. She understood that he was his own world. She understood his completeness. She said quietly to him: you are your own dream, aren’t you? No matter how much she thought to herself that she knew him, she understood she couldn’t possibly know all of him. How could she even start to grasp all the immense and profound being that he is? Oh, how she knew better now. She slowly started to allow him to be all he wanted to be, as she slowly started to entertain her own immense being. Oh, her own space, each day more clear. A Fairy’s dream. Colorful and all there. All there for her to see. All there for her to find. Delighted, enchanted, surprised. Scared, a little. All there to be chosen from, all there to be grabbed from, gracefully adding more beauty to life, little by little, moment by moment. As she became more comfortable in her space, she stood anew. She opened her heart. She looked at him again, and it reminded her that he was all there, all complete. She stood in appreciation of him. He had taught her so much. Now she knew that her dream was to love. To love him. To love herself. To give and to share that love. Because she knew that in her loving him, she found her heart. Her joy resided in her appreciation and in the sharing of those feelings. Now, with each moment, she falls in love again, with herself, with her dream, and with all of him. She whispers to him, sleeping now: thank you, my love. Thank you.

…

I have always found delight in romantic stories and emotional journeys.

A toast to love!

Love Who You Are

Have a great week :)