On My Knees

On my knees--how often I have found myself there, weeping, imploring, broken open--in front of candles, sometimes dedicated to the Dark Goddess; at the monastery in the Galillee; the canyon walls of the Chama, and how the earth under my knes supported me, accepted the tears, reached up with mineral life and centuries of compost and pawprints to bring green up my spine. How often I felt I could tumble down if a crack appeared but one never did. Now on my knees in a different way--with gratitude and joy, knowledge of my soul that no matter the form, it is dancing, no matter the distance, it is loving and being loved, no matter the weather, it is blossoming. On my knees because I am finally humbled by grace rather than pain, by surrender rather than sacrifice. On my knees but with my face uplifted to the sky, to stars, to the soft caress of the invisible, ready to stand on my own two feet and continue my walk to the center, the place where I am held. On my knees the way a gardener tenderly plants the seeds, pulls the weeds, and is held by Mother Earth.