On the way home
from the new vet,
hours to go,
I drive into a storm.

It’s like a curtain
I glide through into a world of chaos.
Rain pounds, hail bounces, cars, bumper to bumper,
blink their emergency flashers.

In my head swirls the vet’s cautioned voice,
“May be cancer…”
and now, Lester, our dog,
stretches out in the backseat.

The hail enlarges,
gumballs flowing through icy water,
jumping up and down on the hood,
ping, bang, pow!

Giant trucks lumber by
splashing, so the windshield submerges like a submarine
only red lights blinking, blinking, caution, alarm,
may be cancer—that growth on his leg.

An overpass stretches across the road,
a haven, if I can just get there.
And I do, pull off, huddle beneath,
air suddenly quiet, hail and rain shielded from us.

I sit, mantra on my tongue,
calming my heart,
while Lester perks up and looks around.
“Hey, boy, we’re going to be okay.”

This refuge, as the storm rages out there,
is mine any time I move inward to You.
The world quiets, the pounding stops
and I feel your absolute protection.

It is the manna of life,
the sweetness on the tongue,
nursed from
a honeysuckle blossom.

And a few days later,
I take refuge again, as I drive on dry city streets
and get the call confirming that yes,
it is cancer.

And I will stay beneath this overpass,
in this refuge, calm and safe,
as I help my animal friend navigate this teaching.
All in Love, in the Divine’s name.

For these experiences are the diamond mines of life,
taking us to the depths
so that we may spring out of the darkness
with a brilliant gift that frees us forever.

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