One Plus One
The bucket turned upright, empty and open, is ready when the rain comes, and so the sky lets go and the bucket fills and without even asking there is--just like that!--plenty. A supply. Supply. Supply that can provide later when the rains dry up. It is simple: the down-turned bucket receives nothing. It is simple: the full bucket takes in no more. It is only the upturned, empty bucket that receives, and I was that. Apparently, I was that.
Broken? No. Not broken, but certainly surrendered. My resistances, weakened to the point of release: I had nothing to prove, and... held nothing? Possessed nothing? That's not exactly so, but I was empty handed and simple. Simple the way a novice is simple. Simple like a child, an infant, a newborn, which I suppose is to say All New.
So when you walked into the corona of my day, sparkling eyes and dancing smile, I could cherish you. Not as a treasured object--not the cherishment as of a thing, no. But one who has lost everything, or at least feels she has, has nothing left to lose. I was simple, defenseless, unwoven weft. And so I smiled, approached, danced the dance of engagement, of animation in conversation, and then retreated. You stepped away, I stepped away, and we resumed our respective days in progress: a Saturday, I think. And the next morning was ordinary, just another morning of eggs on toast, and then the next and the next. But nothing would be the same. It would take awhile for each of us to recognize it, but nothing would ever again be the same.
We were thrown like dice into a moment, we knocked against each other and turned up: one and one. Snake eyes. A lucky number. A fortunate combination. Life tossed us down like dice and we...added up. We matched. Nothing would be the same because something had been born; and though, yes, a born thing can die, it cannot ever be unborn. A life was set in motion. It is thriving now because we give it our breath, our joy, our hearts and dreams and truest intentions. We give it our cherishment.