We were sitting on a park bench kissing and telling each other over and again the story of how we met.
I woke with the pledge: I will kiss you everyday, so we won’t forget.
She was beautiful, young and dark haired, her face strong and delicate at the same time. We had met at a party, in a crowd, thrown together by the currents. It came to me that I might kiss her, this stranger beside me in the crowd. And so, amazingly, I did. And when I did, everything came clear, all the closed doors opened and we knew we were not separate beings, we were of each other, lost and now found. She was my one, my muse, my calling, my way of being in the world.
Nothing I had done, planned or executed had brought us into proximity. It was chance, chaos, a gift of god. If we lost one another again, how would we return to this? How would we find our way back with no map?
The answer came as this: The way to union is internal, a remembering, a listening, an acting on faith.
I must recollect my joy, I must remember in myself this state of grace. The key is in the kiss, this act of bold surrender.
Every day now, every day I ask myself: Where’s the kiss?