keys

'The small man spends all day making cages for everyone he knows while the wise man, who must duck his head when the moon is low, spends all night dropping keys to free the beautiful rowdy prisoners.'

I am wonder-fully touched by those born to live dropping keys each and every day of their lives. I am transfixed by their ease in being slow to anger and quick to assist-seeming to hold no fear in their head nor refrain in their heart. They delve into giving of themselves in all they do with no need for repayment. Thanks seems to be rendered simply in the fulfillment of assistance given.

On the flip side there are many who will offer this same assistance, it would seem, yet keep score and develop a log of payments due for each and every offering. And to this small man, if payback is not rendered in a timely manner, and to the degree they alone think is adequate, repercussions are often deliberate and damaging.

My dad drops keys. Discerning individuals even get the gift of delicately rendered golden keys. He requires nothing in return, yet one has to ask what can possible be granted in thanksgiving!? In contemplating my own life and what I would like to see of it, I think he would accept gratitude shown through optimally living to the extent of my own personal passions' allowance. Just living fully. A simplicity that may stump many in the world as not nearly worthy enough repayment. Yet so very sensical to those who do the key dropping. Just. simply. live. fully. This is thanksgiving at its best.

He has taught me this lesson of key dropping over and over again in my days. In small measures: From walking me through an oil change in my Civic as a bright eyed teen to the insurmountably gifted ribbon tied gold key; lending me desperately needed funds which carried me through to the other side of anguish. The everyday blessings he bestows just by accepting and accepting and once again accepting me-missteps and all, are my keys to living fully and honestly by my own heart.

Everyone has at least one key dropper in their life. The person so generous and genuine that their shine causes us to spread our wings to their widest span and fill our satchels with keys to disperse ourselves. My dad gives me the deep desire to take up my own accumulated storehouse, fill my pockets and share them with the world; imprisoned or not-each of us needs freeing sometimes. If only from the repetitive tasks in a heavy day. So I will strive to give keys to each and everyone I touch-at my father's example. Take it up; hold it squarely in your palm-with tenderness feel the gift it is and pass it on. Drop your own keys.

To the small man, live as you do and answer keylessly at the door of heaven. To the wise man, and my moon brushing giant of a father, live heaven every day. in love. trish.