Walt Whitman has been my favorite poet for about a thousand years. I love his expansiveness, his generosity, his gravity, his joy, his oomph!
One of my favorite bits from Leaves of Grass is where, accused of contradicting himself, he explains that "I am large, and contain multitudes."
There aren't a lot of people who are willing to see and know our contradicting parts, much less love us with them, but this week was a riot of knowing friends, and it was glorious. People who see me as saucy and spiritual, compassionate and capable, funny and bright, kind and bitchy.
It's such a gift to be seen. It's a holy thing to be seen, to be recognized. (Perhaps we can even say that there is an element of evil in willfully not seeing people. How can we love our neighbor if we won't really look at our neighbor?) Some remarkable people go beyond, seeing us in the fullness of who we can grow into.
I'm wagging this morning, thinking of M and J and S and L, all of whom (magically, it seems) know and love me.
May you experience the same drenching in blessing.
Three Word Wednesday: We Are Friends
3 hours ago