all is well

I am having bouts of weirdness lately.

Weirdness that is not my normal kind of weirdness.

The last time I felt this way for an extended amount of time was over 2 years ago. Back when my body couldn't seem to cooperate with my heart. Eventually that worked out so who am I not to have faith that this will too?

This is my life you know, and I'm in the thick of it. Weirdness and all.

Sometimes it's so heavy I can hardly bear to shoulder my load, but then magically I'm gifted the ability, or someone else steps in to help and I realize that I am certainly not alone in my efforts. That never have I come up against something that I could not handle,
that never have miracles ceased to work in my life.

I read this a while back thanks to a lovely lady friend of mine,
poetry has never been my strong suit but I have to say I get Walt's drift here.


Miracles
by Walt Whitman

Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon
Or animals feeding in the fields

Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of the stars shining so quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place


And while you're at it, go ahead and read this too. My friend ~j shared it on google reader and I have to say that whoever this is managed to put into words a very real phenomenon I experience almost every single night.