Everyone has their own kind of dignity. Sacred and profane on the same block, in the same museum, in the eyes of the same people. And we're all the same people - in the eyes.

I know the puddle on the floor.

Right now, I am able to notice how elevated I feel in the chair just above it.

Somehow the fire has graced me with just enough will to sit upright, drawn to its warmth.

Is that dawn, just on the horizon?

Pluto, I am at home in your depths, born of your mystery. 

Spring dawns in my heart from your dark medicine, making the soil rich and pure.

Though I don't know it yet, flowers will bloom here and make gardens of me.

Angels, be my breath as I locate my heart. 

Spilling all the joy-filled moments to make room for more. 

The extraction feels unkind and filled with compassion all at once.

There is bounty where I am headed now.

My compass has pointed me there.

There is a right next place. 

...This. This long, relentless now that insist upon the death of my hope for the familiarity of the light, ensuring I do not mistake a synthetic source for the real thing. 

Eternal winter in the underbelly of grief. What to say?

But plenty to feel.

Uncovered, raw, wandering in the wilderness of unclean thoughts and abbreviations of the Soul, lived out in a body. 

Somehow, some way, under grace - Love will hit the mark.

I know it will change me to walk again.

Negotiating fiercely with the unknown, I cannot permit death to take me this way. Instead, I open the animal of doubt inside this crunchy rib cage so I can smell my own blood and feel the pulse of my heart beat that connects me to all living things.

I want to fall in. I want to stumble upon you the way I stumbled upon the first break of dawn when I came into this world. 

"The work of shining, the work of shining, the work of letting yourself know. The work of shining, the work of letting yourself go. And he points himself north, and he takes himself forth. And he hears the eagle crying as he walks, he walks along."

Silence emerges like it's the only truth.

Stop to listen. Stop to listen.

Power down the firewalls, open up the caged jaws that masticate, satiate, and instigate freedom.

Despair is the enormous sound of being locked underground for fear of life's reverberation.

Sometimes we must cross riverbeds to get where we’re going.

Life requires that kind of devotion, incisive attention to traverse the spaces between.