Beggar

I walk through my world every day like a beggar.   My hands and heart are extended, ready to receive the wonders of the world.   My deep craving reaches out and I ask for what the world is willing to give.

The hard stems of flowers I cut, the smell of the earth, the eyes of a stranger, the touch of a beloved.   I desire them all and beg for their indulgence.   May I approach them, may I see them in all their loveliness?

I set my face not as one who is pleading, but as one who is gentle and welcoming.   My heart is in my visage, unhidden, unprotected.

If I have an irrepressible fear it is that I might die before I drain this cup of its last drop of intoxication.   I fear I may not totally avail myself of the sweet essence of this world.

I will become more earnest in my begging, in my vulnerability, in my open-heartedness.   I will not be afraid to ask.