The Art of Graceful Acceptance

I rolled out of bed this morning, and I thought I heard the doorbell ring, Amma walk in, the pots and pans come out, the neighborhood vegetable seller call out to us for fresh papaya, the car honking: and I was late as usual, the lady upstairs calling out to her grandchildren, and the sound of the water-pump kick in.  On the street, I thought I saw Bonomalla, that horrid house-help who never like me much. I almost smiled at her…

How terribly disoriented I am. Lost amidst worlds, and people, and dreams…and reality. But, if my troubled mind has taught me one thing, it is this: the art of graceful acceptance.

And, so every unsavory email, and every time the traffic snares, and every time I watch an old man’s breathing become heavy, and every time the day gathers dust, and the little girl squabbles, and my heart is filled with an overwhelming guilt, and I cannot phone in at the end of a difficult day, and I want to change what I said that summer, and go back and be a bigger me…

I concede. I accept the now, the what is, the what I never know will be.

The art of gracefully accepting all that comes away. Without anger, and without doubt, and most of all without worry.





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2 responses to “The Art of Graceful Acceptance

  1. Maybe not so much as ‘lost amidst worlds’ as straddling simultaneous worlds. Just maybe.

    At times, to ‘accept’ is to not pursue.

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