In Genesis, when Jacob wakes from sleep, he thinks, “God is in this place, and I did not know it” — his way of being jolted by the realization : “This is holy ground!”

Last week, I heard on the car radio there was a serious head-on collision at a street corner near the home of my chronically ill twin sister, almost 80.

Oh no, I thought — instantly anxious that she and her husband, who drive that corner going to endless doctors’ appointments, might have been involved. As soon as I could, I pulled over and phoned my twin. She answered on the first ring. I had the sudden feeling that what I heard in her familiar voice was really the voice of God.
I’ve heard her voice countless times, without ever that revelation dawning. That day it did.
For days afterward, everytime the phone rang I was conscious that [whoever might be calling] I would hear the voice of God again. Wherever I stepped, that was holy ground. Whatever situation I learned about or found myself in, even shadowed ones, God was there.

Little by little that startling consciousness faded. It wasn’t mine to kidnap. If/when it comes again, all I can do is bow before it. Just as I bow (gratefully!) before the conversation between the two Davids and the stories and revelations I read here: all are holy ground.

What a balm, not only David’s penetrating rendering of his Finisterre, but the responses to it. Thank you, brave life-sharers! My own response, caught by David’s line about promise, is not intended to be a poem. It simply emerged line by line.

TO PROMISE WHAT I NEEDED TO PROMISE ALL ALONG?

What could that be?

After supposing this or that — deeply–
what comes clear is this:
“to let the small animal of (my) body love what it loves,”
as Mary Oliver writes

and more, to love what I love, and who, GRATIS ~
without my love needing to be attracted
or someone’s or something’s being uneducated, unnoticed, or largely unwanted —
which is to say
without my having to be needed: loved first or loved back.

It’s time to shed the shoes of those “havings”
which I’ve relied on in the past
(and which, with one cherished other at least, I’ve painfully lost)

and shedding them, to let go of the endless waiting
for their return or arrival
which only serves to block what wants to happen.

What do I need to set a match to? or, less poetically, to delete?
messages: ninety per cent of them, saved emails
that have puzzled or hurt me, staggered or grieved me
or even, from time to time, consoled.

I need to forego what seemed to be
some shaping of my life (control?) but never was
and so to stand still,
even when being, instead of doing, feels futile and fallow

and trust life to unfold,
to carry me forward without moving an inch.

At the moment I find myself in a slow shift toward transformation.

Recently I caught myself aiming resentment toward another with whom I once shared
a deep relationship. It had changed, left me bereft. Then came the insight that the one I resent even more is myself. Beneath my distress, the “clear face…looking back” at me was my own: and it was the face of a needy child.

Why must I be so needy, so like a child in my elder years? I asked myself, despairing. Walking around with that question, I read the scripture of the day. Imagine what it was: Jesus asking that a child be brought to him! I pictured Jesus scooping up the needy child that I am. Not reprimanding, not instructing, just loving. I was filled with astonishment. An elder’s needy inner child need not be disdained! With that revelation, I felt my resentment morphing into acceptance, even love. And continue to live in the peace and playfulness of that.

For long years, with the blessing of good health I have had privilege and possibility to help countless others — especially my three (and only) siblings, all ill. Then, out of the blue, a severe physical difficulty assaulted me without warning. It’s slowed me down with its inevitable limitations. I began thinking (and occasionally saying) “I feel as if I’m living a half-life.”
As I admit that, I hate how self-pitying it sounds.

But my, what a great revealer it is! For it tells me I’ve been part-hearted too. After listening to our two Davids, I begin to realize that that need not be. If Rilke’s waddling swan can bring itself entire to the water, so can I, to limited life.

How I welcome Wholeheartedness as she stands at my threshold shyly waiting to be beckoned further in! — and how I welcome the stories others have shared. Thank you, thank you.

“When the student is ready, the teacher will appear” is a quote that came to mind as I read your candid ‘confession’. How ready you (yourself a teacher) are, Kevin! Ready to be enlightened at this seeking moment in your largely burnt-out life. Perhaps David Whyte is the teacher being sent you? or this eCourse? or the honest outpouring of one or more of those here “who do not regularly share on public forums.” (I’m one). My prayer for you, and encouragement!