This Cup



I have learned,

over time

My children’s cups are not beholden to me

They are, yes,

beholden unto them

Each inhabits the responsibility for filling

And my purpose, for now,

Is to guide them how


Whilst I re-frame, I learn

This cup, this other glorious cup,

That which is not personal

Yes, this cup

The one through which we cherish our earth,

This that we jointly are to hold

That is passed from generation to generation

I imagine, water brimming full inside

And ask myself this;

How do we carry from grandparent to father,

Mother to child, child to grandchild

And on,

Without leaking or losing it’s contents?

What can we bring to this cup

to facilitate conveyance with such consideration?

And should it spill, what grace can we manifest

to assist it’s contents full again?

How may I impart, what is my journey, my passage

to enable this?

What may I empty in me

to enable this?

I can race and succeed the cup

But with contents none

I can swig, drink, slurp, procrastinate

But with contents gone

How can I pass it to my children?

And how can I teach them to dutifully pass

to theirs?

This image I cannot remove from my mind

The still waters that sit

Within this sacred vessel

It is not mine

Yet I am, like you,

honoured to be a carrier

Neither I or you own,

But we are bound

To it’s urgent care and attendance

And I look to water bodies around,

And ponder the energy they convey, generate

As they wash, wane,

Cleanse, mirror

Without attachment, nor judgement

They are non

And Oh how I love non

The non that allows emptiness that at once allows us to fill

How can I bestow this onto my children?

What must I unlearn, let go, release, invite

So I can teach them to bequeath it to theirs?

How do we sustain this blessed transportation?

How do we make known, for we are blind to it’s losses?

And how may we share, without avarice,

the wonder and joy of it’s contents?

My only answer, on the path that I know, is to dig deep

Whilst I seek

To keep listening, to that which is not

To hear the weeping whispers of the past

To hold them in my mind and arms

And bid adieu

To let salt water fall

For holding tears in my heart

Makes me the person I am not

And this cascade of sorrow,

This be the grace

That permits emptiness to fill

Our eternal cup,

For it to resume it’s poise of effortless love and compassion

And return to wholeness. Yes!

Yes, in my internal environmental travels

As my children witness and learn

My care of it’s delivery

And their care,

and governance to hold

This and their own

Together, I hope,

We will weave new stories,

In the threads of our undoings,

A new carriage

For this,

Yes, our magnificent cup


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