So I turn my head and look towards death now.
Feeling my way through the tunnel with the space of
emptiness and quiet.
That shimmering silence that awaits me...
A breath...A pause.
I relax, and then float on toward the opening awaiting me...
This is my direction now; inward to the green pastures,
to the great light of divine love, the great peace of All Knowing.
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All winter
the blue heron
slept among the horses.
I do not know
the custom of herons,
do not know
if the solitary habit
is their way,
or if he listened for
some missing one-
not knowing even
that was what he did-
in the blowing
sounds in the dark.
I know that
hope is the hardest
love we carry.
He slept
with his long neck
folded, like a letter
put away.
~ Jane Hirshfield, "Hope and Love," in THE LIVES OF THE HEART