. Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
I carry my secret power through this world, hidden, so that you will not see it unless you harm or confront me directly;
though we who share the gift recognize each other— the look in the eyes, the manner of presence. Once you've seen it you can't miss it.
It never tires or errs or fails; it prevails in public or in secret, with a single one or a whole clan.
It does not protect me or hand me success, but it always triumphs, always lives, though often I will suffer for it, but only a bit.
I draw on the secret power poured out into me, welling up, unending, from the dark spring within.
It streams from my heart at all whom I meet, but they seldom know it was me, since it takes effect so slowly.
I walk through the market, I read the paper, I watch the dryer repair man, the grocery clerk, people who drive, who walk, who yell at me,
secretly radiating the gift that I have been given, seldom speaking of it, but letting it flow: “Blessing.” “Blessing.” “Blessing.”
Copyright © Steve Garnaas-Holmes firstname.lastname@example.org