Suddenly it makes sense again. In no haze of mindfulness, staring down at this snow-covered quilt of America, I am the stars exploding. Voice shot down to hell, half sick, half recovered, alive and well and ready. The unknown for now will remain as such and in this moment that feeling is not one of suspension. It is the hopeful unknown. Reaching into the future could only be good now as the past is wrapping itself in ribbons and pleasant packing paper, rarely to be revisited.

And seemingly as winter has become spring, confusion has become insight.

The present's just a pleasant interruption to the past.

I can say for the first time that I am not afraid, and while this is a feeling that can undoubtedly change with time, I feel cradled by this universe and the immense love that comes from it.

I have a really hard time connecting to music that doesn't feel like I'm somehow solving a puzzle that applies to my life.

But planes land and so do I, and suns rise, melting away the grounds cool protection. I am finally free, if only for this moment. And should that be the case, then know that I am throwing a parade in first class as I speak. Art has again saved my life, my love and me. What next? Who really cares? Certainly a toast will be in order. Make mine a double.

Things are fragile, but we're all being carried and I think we're all on our path in that sense. As fragile as things are, we're still getting there.