It’s a living book, this life;
it folds out in a million settings,
cast with a billion beautiful characters,
and it is almost over for you.
It doesn’t matter how old you are;
it is coming to a close quickly,
and soon the credits will roll
and all your friends will fold
out of your funeral and
drive back to their homes
in cold and still and silence.
And they will make a fire
and pour some wine and
think about how you once were . . .
and feel a kind of sickness
at the idea you never again will be . . .
. . . And so my prayer is that
your story will have involved
some leaving and some coming home,
some summer and some winter,
some roses blooming out
like children in a play.
My hope is your story will be about changing,
about getting something beautiful born inside of you,
about learning to love a woman or a man,
about learning to love a child,
about moving yourself around water,
around mountains, around friends,
about learning to love others
more than we love ourselves,
about learning oneness as a way
of understanding God.
We get one story,
you and I,
and one story alone.
God has established
the elements, the setting
and the climax and the resolution.
It would be a crime not to venture out,