This poem was inspired by several things over the last few days. The first, a yoga class within which the theme was receiving (using the Twitter war between Kanye and Amber Rose as the inspiration and example, no less). The second, one of the teachers of said yoga class reached out to the wider social sphere, humbly asked for funds for a much needed surgery, and did it from such a place of wholeness, rootedness, and gratitude that was nothing shy of inspiring. (Btw, they reached their fundraising goal in record time, which was beyond amazing.) And the third, recognizing my own hesitancy to open to things new and as yet unknown. Receiving, as I point out in this poem, is a complicated and messy business. But it can be beautiful and life giving when it comes from the right place.
Nothing closed can open, and opening is not
invitation to wounds, or abuse, or pain.
Instead, opening to receiving is the act of active asking,
not as a hungry mouth
gaped wide as vacuumous void,
waiting to consume any and all,
But as hands cupped to rain to drink the sky.
I am thinking of the nature of trees,
those receivers of above and below,
with vast arms open,
for their roots have dug deep enough
to drink in the earth.
Temptation lies not in the wanting, but in the waiting to give.
Muscles contract in spasms waiting to birth
what is not yet time to be born.
How complicated this all is,
this holding of tension with intention--
holding and being held.
A hand opens, one to another, without fear of being
asked to give--for asking is its own giving.
Reception comes only by owning one's own deserving
as a natural consequence
of being human fully.
So open as the fertile soil comes to be planted
with good things,
and bear the fruit of gratitude.
