and here is the window and here is the door
a choice between touching clouds or resenting their altitude
between busting them with our minds or lying on our backs in the long grass, playing that game with the shapes, that one
it's a witty puzzle, where they all exist on the same playing field though will never truly fit together,
unless we sink into a deeper kind of silence, of listening, and touch the ground in a way that teaches us to
see ourselves in skies that feel too out of reach
and to remember that every shape that exists is constantly shifting, changing into some other form, the only difference is speed
And we start to find grace in our pace, in each phase of the evolution that defines the mass of our silhouettes
What joy, to feel the weight of this shadow, to stand between the sun and the earth, to exist
As the intersection between certainty and surrender
to remember the mud and that time, by the stream, in the springtime, when the bank gave way beneath you, and you fell,
and you sunk to depths that have been waiting to show you a new surface,
to help us lift this veil and finally with luck we’ll trim these sails,
for there are stranger seas ahead, my dear, and I have seen them.