It was a particularly odd day. Imagine getting hit during rush hour traffic and enduring only the minimal scratch on one’s bumper. It could be worse, but it wasn’t. It was only a scratch. What could it mean? I really don’t like for this to be the default question to the end of my day, but, really, what could it mean? However, these days, an incident like this cannot slip past without being analyzed.
There was a morning presentation, one that wasn’t in the same caliber as the ones delivered by managers in suits, but one that was delivered nonetheless, sans the propriety of words, lack of vocabulary thereof and precision for that matter. The presentation was unpolished, hardly audible and barely understandable, but it was delivered nonetheless. And the thing is, up until that point I thought that presentations had to meet those certain standards and those certain criteria.
The idea of intentions come to mind. When one’s intentions are good, the universe rises to meet you wherever you are, at whatever level you are at. All I knew of the presentation was that it was good based on the hearts and intentions of those making it. The delivery doesn’t matter because the intentions push through. And the world indeed comes forward to reaffirm this not with a grand gesture, but with subtle compliments here and there. And when I couldn’t define this for myself, it would take a scratch on my car to learn that a greater power will manifest through the actions of those with purest intentions.
I see your intentions come through
past the walls
past the curtains
past the blind spots
of my own doubt
and faithlessness
I remain a skeptic
no more;
your intentions
and your heart
untainted–
I begin to see
what you mean
even if it is just
the tone of purity
in your voice
that I start to chase
light and God
again and again
in each sound
colliding against
each thought
each reckless
assault I commit
against your
love
-mr gahon 11/11/13
onehungrypoet 