Vow

I wake this morning thirty years to the day

that the tumor vanished from my skull.

I am still here. How is it possible, that the

ounce of Spirit that wouldn’t go out should

guide me to today? Like a spiritual cricket, I

only know one song—that everything is holy. I

sing this at the close of every day. I try to live it

at the break of every dawn. I’ve seen ordinary

wonders, day after day, and ordinary heroes,

one after another, trying to make sense of

this Mystery we swim in, only to care for

each other along the way. That’s the only

sense there is. Almost dying whispered this

into my bones. And I have wanted to embrace

everything and everyone ever since. Perhaps

this urge to care and hold is what makes

everything grow. Perhaps this urge, brought

on by being broken open, makes the birds

sing. Perhaps this inevitable prying of our will

makes the human spirit reach for what it knows

to be true, finding the beginnings of light

in everything and everyone. For thirty years,

I’ve served this urge to bring everything together.

*photo credit: Johnny Mckane