How could I shield myself from the words that lift me into the highest lowness? Dearly beloved, raw openness, the source of my grace and imperfection.
I feel strangely weightless when my precognition whispers to me about my possible future. I hush all my names, theyβre not statues carved by the thoughts of others.
I watch people drift in and out, I touch the tree leaves in the cold wind. Looking tenderly into the eyes of black ravens I just try to see what they see.
I donβt fear the dark, the primal womb that gives light and birth to worlds spread across space. Losing someone I love is my only fear. Death comes uninvited, in its own time.
Love is my helpless, naked truth. My moral compass still works in my body. At night, I find sleep and rest. In light, the warmth, and the souls of others.
I see the tired hearts I find solace, looking into the light. The body brings fleeting fullness. I gather the crumbs of mystery, expecting nothing, just enough to find my dignity and make peace with the unreachable.