As the storm whips around us, we settle into the deep water, we sink slowly overcome by the weight of the mindless water, a calm, quiet drop as chaos wages outside of our chosen nested halo. There is at first the sense of entrapment, a frenzy born of our own device, our own story-line plot written in ambition. But it becomes apparent that this is where we are meant to be, weighted down by our decisions, enduring the everyday forces of dislocation. Now, here, we must wait, deathly breathless, riding out the storm. Sacrificing for our future. Nibbling at crumbs to await a feast that may not even be our own.
Little beams of divine mystery sometimes make it down into the deepened vacuity where we are poised. Is this enough? It must be enough. Even these fleeting moments of beauty makes worth the space in between the stars.
Strength lies in rootedness, in the quiet, searching sap of endurance. What is dead and fallen will be converted and resurrected in our veins. Upward, the branching movement into light. Our territory, our place, our time, established by the work and rut of our past. We are growing into ourselves, nurturing the steady development of our own narratives. This selfishness is selflessness. This work is the world’s work. We will shine out of the darkness of our creation. We will make of ourselves a voice that will speak of encouragement, of betterment, of love. Together. Unbalanced. Fighting. Enduring. Developing.