Get busy Livin’ or Get Busy Dyin” . . .

 

Says the wise convict in Shawshank Prison.

 

Take your pick, the cement enclosed prison tempting

you in your new life, or the sensual stroll with the angelic

being caressing you as you walk along the very street

where you were born.

 

Take your pick, spend the last precious moments

vigilantly guarding the dining room from some inner clan

hoping to partake with your family, or feasting with them

on what might be its last supper.

 

Take your pick, chastising yourself for reporting the

glowing vitality of an aging mentor and believing that you

might be carrying some postmodern version of the evil eye,

or celebrating the emergence inherent in all emergencies,

where there lives more growth and wisdom than you can

comprehend.

 

Yes, take your pick, for doubting that the healing magic in

your hands is somehow tainted when the body trips and

falls, when in reality, your newly found power is ‘at hand,’

readying itself for the next amazing undertaking.

 

Whether you flow with the watery current or breathe the

voice of the fire, know that you and I are both prisoner and

parolee, ever welcomed by men and angels into lives that

embody mystery and grace.  Each precious moment we are

called to choose.