A poem from David Whyte, passed along to the RadicalDiscipleship community by Peter Nilsen-Goodin of the Wilderness Way Community of Portland, OR.

Those who will not slip beneath
the still surface on the well of grief

turning downward through its black water
to the place we cannot breathe

will never know the source from which we drink,
the secret water, cold and clear,

nor find in the darkness glimmering
the small round coins
thrown by those who wished for something else.