Being Love

This morning, I experienced love with an egg.

As I crack it and it crackles

In hot pan, greased with ghee,

I smile and speak:

This morning is all about you, egg.

What do you need?

Salt?

Bread to soak up your yolky goodness?

Coriander leaves?

Oh, yes please!

Says egg, silently.

Hopping to chopping board,

Hand slices twice, freshly baked soda bread,

Before gliding warm butter upon it,

With ease.

I return to egg

And sprinkle salt, pepper and a pinch of paprika

Upon its bubbling white.

Responding with a smile,

Egg is turned,

Slowly, carefully, keeping egg’s heart unbroken.

Heat off,

Hats off,

Coriander on.

Egg is laid upon its bready bed;

Thought-less,

Joy-full;

Seeing egg

Not as what egg should be or once was,

Not as meal, proof of skill or lack thereof,

But as egg is now.

I breathe egg in,

Full-attention,

Full of wonder,

In a state of delight,

As I ponder:

This is me, being love,

This is me, experiencing love,

With an egg,

With myself,

And with life.