The healing powers of water are too easily forgotten until the moment we find ourselves submerged and are forced to remember. We remember the importance of breathing, of silence, of surrender to holy be-ingness. Weightless, worryless and unencumbered by the busyness of endless tasks that devour each week leaving us little more than smoldering ash.

I’m so far away from anyone or anything that might recognize the persons I’ve been. And that’s familiar. The shedding, ripping, peeling, revival; never-ending story. We are walls of years of paint, plaster and paper, that with each passing season we learn to regret and hack at with sharp cosmic objects until all that remains is the very foundation from which we try again.

If you find yourself too tired to make 35,000 new decisions, dive in.

For now we drift through dog hair, teeth, hours, blood, meat, leaves, kale, correspondence, dead skin, laundry, mopping, meal plans and the pursuit of not too distant and realized dreams. The book, tattoos, house, walkability and stride. I don’t mind the climb this time. Under here, everything is mercilessly erased.~

Dear Sue, I started writing back to you and this nonsense came out instead. Fortunately, the weekend is nearly here. If nothing else, your post inspired me. Here’s to the revival of our burnt carcasses. Much love, e