Leaving …

We did not come to remain whole.
We came to lose our leaves like the trees,
The trees that are broken
And start again, drawing up on great roots …
— Robert Bly (“A Home In Dark Grass”) from The Light Around the Body

We take one step at a time when we leave
a love, a job, a belief
after spending days, perhaps months, years
dismissing doubts
their presence, ripples in the air
that can be as soft as moths
wings we pretend are only
the ordinary in and out of our breath
clouds against windows
clear, and one day we see our world differently
feel our hands press against that glass
the cold of it flinging us back
one last time
into the heart of a home we have known
where each piece in its usual place
seems rearranged
as if we are already gone
— Sandy Shreve (“Leaving”) from Belonging

How hard it is to leave or be
left. Sending someone away
because violence is near. Or
selling all you have so a child
might have a ticket to a better
life. Or those torn from each
other because the ship could
hold no more. Or inexplicably
when the love is gone. Or some
strange need has awakened after
years and one of you must try
again to be what you failed to be.

Yet what if, when all alone, we
open a letter, addressed to who
we are under everything, that says:
beyond our pain, each gasp of
parting pollinates the world with
what the heart releases when it
feels the most. This sharp honey
keeps the world from falling.

It doesn’t make it easier. I
still can’t bear to think of
losing you. But nor can the
clouds bear to lose their rain.
— Mark Nepo (“Leaving” from Three Intentions), author of Seven Thousand Ways to Listen: Staying Close to What Is Sacred

But maybe you are searching among the branches for what only appears in the roots.
— Rumi from Say I Am You

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