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I Pray For my Enemies.

It matches my desire

to serve god,

to serve love,

and to find all those spaces within me that

keep me separate.

I hear the invitation, and I take it all in.

And then I sit back and watch.

I watch the narratives,

I watch the gripings,

I watch the wrestling,

and eventually I watch the openings and surrendering.

I give space to the justifications that assert themselves,

the parts of me that have been born from wounds,

and who can’t help but fight for their preservation.

They often have a desperate, angry tone.

Arrogance, superiority.

Then deep grief.



In time, that all starts to crumble, and

a rawness of possibility shows up, as if to say,

what might happen if I give this separation up?

That can rattle the young one in me so much.

She gets scared.

I comfort her.

I invite myself to be patient with the unsettled rawness,

with the seed that is growing itself into newness

but has not yet grown roots.

The rawness turning into expansion…

(that’s my favorite part of the cycle).

It’s always humbling, because of

how impossible it once seemed.

And also perhaps at how mysterious it is.

And counterintuitive,

to extend an open lens of love toward

someone who once violated me so deeply.

I let it not make sense, and

I keep praying.

**** My survivor loves: we must honor our unique journey. I see you and honor you on your path.
My poem was inspired by Joy Harjo’s

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