Remember, damn it.Remember to makea clearing.
Early morning.Late September.Autumn sun tipsgold fronds andlong grasses.
The spell is a promisethat says there issomething to be found,that says there isa force that couldjust break through,that says you just needto tryharder.
You call me outsay — this will not do,is not enough.I’ll show you thatyou still have stuffto work throughand work on- I’ll show you.
A vast hall. High ceilings.Oak floors.Autumn sunlightdreams throughstained glass.
We met in caravanseach circle arrivingcalled together by common curiosityto sit around the fire of our longings.
No one lives above sorrow, no.To try is to try to fly six inchesabove the ground and never touch it.Oh no. You have to keep on letting goand gravity will take you home.
And now I know in these moments where I feel like I am rent apart by some out of control sea-stormthat leaves my body empty and aching that in these moments there are merely two songs being sung. The song of my body longs to let me know what I cannot see, longs for me to hear it and cries out…
Burn me down.The clothes off my back.The rhythm beyondthe counterattack.
Oh bless me,oh bemy lionheart.
I cover myself in a cloak.
Crouching down, head bowed,my world becomes a cave.I turn inside and light a firein the darkness -
Wake up and beA thousand-armed treeStanding as the living spiritOf awakening in this world
And keep the lightOf that fireAt your heartThat it might soften and growAnd acquire an intensityThat is…