Holy Chance

All the moments of time
crash into this instant,
all the small human
concepts of past and future
arrive to this
explosion into now,
this everything beginning,
this creation I am given
again and again. Again.

Here at the holy chance of inception
rolling in the ocean of time,
at the meeting of times,
I am. I am. Love is. Love is.
Rainbow drops of time
lift from giant waves
in delicate arcs of moments.
Each trough and swell,
the shining particles fly.

A speck on the edge
of a galaxy of a billion stars,
and that galaxy itself
a dot in a billion more,
I live on tiny beautiful Earth,
I, a teensy creature
lifting my little arms
in bursting jubilation.
Each moment, like this?

No wonder I must sometimes
temper my awareness
into daily ho-hum blind-to-wonder.
But let me stretch now
to feel the blazing truth
of all that comes together
in a single moment of my days.
And if I fly into
a million particles?

So this, ah this,
is the practice of death.
Dispersion that keeps becoming
compression,
keeps turning into
another focus,
this scattering of light
that concentrates, again.
A practice of Goodbye-hello.

©Susa Silvermarie 2026

image by Tiffany