But another part of you knows it is really so fragile here, so precarious, so extraordinary – that something is happening here that is so very precious, and that it will not be here for much longer.
You have taken birth in a star where love is alive, and you are willing to give your heart to others and to this world. You do not know for sure, but you sense that it is very very rare to be here. You are willing for your heart to be broken, to feel sadness, to burn for love, to stay raw, to remain unbearably tender, and to never apologize for your sensitivity and vulnerability.
At the end of this life – which is sure to come much, much sooner than you’d like – it is quite unlikely you’ll be asking if you accomplished enough, if you perfected yourself, if you've remained safe, or if you achieved all of your goals. Inside your heart there may be only one burning question: how well did I love?
Did I pause each day to behold the movement of grace as it is appearing in each and every moment? Did I look up into the sunset and the glory of the moon and give my heart to this world? Did I risk everything to know the preciousness of this experience here? Was I willing to feel more, care so deeply, let everyone matter, and be utterly devastated at even the possibility of one more sunrise? Was I willing to fall in love, to truly fall in love?
Did I spend my time here in this star of love wisely, with my heart open, knowing it could be broken in any moment? Did I dance with the beloved around the moon, wander with her into the desert and the darkness, play with her in the depths of the oceans, and give everything for just one glimpse of the mysteries of separation and union?
I hope I make it all the way through this sweetest of ever thanksgiving days, but if for some reason I do not, this would have been enough. I have been given so much more than enough.