Here’s a poem I’ve been sharing in a few different circles. It’s fitting for fall, a season when change is somehow felt more deeply in the bone; for this congregation remembering the gift of an elder like Al Bauman; for times of political tumult.
The image of the thread gives me some needed orientation, even as it leaves open the question of what that thread is for each person.
“The Way It Is” by William Stafford
There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.