I really treasure those grace moments, because they give me hope. Make me believe in God. Christians experience grace. Muslims experience grace. Buddhists experience grace. Atheists experience grace. They all just call it something different. Goodness. Enlightenment. Luck. Whatever.
Saint Marty has a little poem about grace for you.
Billy's Vision of Grace
by: Catie Rosemurgy
She lands next to me. She hides in my heart
and pecks. She's a sudden bird, my own
small, ruffled piece of nowhere. She can't stay.
Her heartbeat forbids it. She leaves me behind,
as blue as a robin's egg in the grass
She's the color of sand by day, the color
of the bottom of a well at night.
She's the color of everything at night.
She's a charming shape, and so the moon tries
to use her as a stencil. She's what it wants
more and more of. She emerges and emerges.
She's born and born. Not very many things,
maybe only a bird at night, can keep
flying and still seem completely empty.
|I like accordion music . . .|