sharing: goodness was not meant to be a crumb.

The heart stops singing when it ceases to become a slave to a divinity as whole as God’s.

One of my earthly friends came this morning and shared tea with every one she’d meet. It stirred an aliveness in my heart: I’ve never been stirred by the aliveness of sharing before.

What if whatever we gained was meant to be shared. What if sharing was the only way to reward success with equality; to give what we have been given, to share our rains with golden grounds; for what is the rain without the fertile garden blooming and green?

Is this why we feel so empty up the vertical ladder of earthly climbs?

I mean and intend to share the silent goodness of my heart. It multiplies still, in stillness and in silence, but goodness was not made to be a crumb. It is as supple as the sound of a tree's name, sweetening when it is uttered, when it is dispersed and shared along the continental drifts.

Is there a way to become enslaved to divine sharing of goodness? Then I must learn. Then I must commence the spring of my heart. Then I must be the rosy calyx with its open arms.