Forgiveness. There is no poem for it.
It is a strong and beautiful goodbye.
Self. There is no book for it.
It is a lifetime of goodbyes.
Destiny. There is no plan for it.
It is this. Say a beautiful hello.
Inspired by Joshua Prager’s story:
Was I what had been done to me? Were all of us the results of things done to us, done for us, the infidelity of a parent or spouse, money inherited? Were we instead our bodies, their inborn endowments and deficits? It seemed that we could be nothing more than genes and experience, but how to tease out the one from the other? As Yeats put that same universal question, “O body swayed to music, o brightening glance, how can we know the dancer from the dance?”