One Thought. One Practice. One Poem.
becoming a fluid, wonderful, celebratory thing.
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One thought:
When I look up at the stars, awed by their effectual, burnished light, I often wonder what they see when looking down at me. I imagine it sees a tiny quibbling ball of energy and light bouncing inside its walls. An eruption trying to happen, but contained inside some invisible limit. An impossible tension of light trying to spill into space but too afraid of unleashing. I imagine the stars are watching with hopeful anticipation for the fighting energy to reach the beam. Will it sputter, fizzle, and stop? Or will it grow into itself? I can imagine them looking down at us, rooting for the birth of another star.