In an email thread, found an old poem by Pavi: "The poetry of acceptance is the poetry of the monk's bowl. Space of principled giving and receiving. A muscular discipline that means honoring all that comes - and goes. Gray dawn and a handful of rice. The stray compliment, toothache, joy, a sunlit relationship. An old regret, a restless night, hope, a bright cloud of butterflies. To accept is to cup this moment in present palms, to stand on shifting sands, steadying the nameless within."