I wake expectant, hoping to see a new thing.

Ecstasy, I think, is a soul's response to the waves holiness makes as it nears.

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour and with that one, is what we are doing.

Theirs is the mystery of continuous creation and all that providence implies: the uncertainty of vision, the horror of the fixed, the dissolution of the present, the intricacy of beauty, the pressure of fecundity, the elusiveness of the free, and the flawed nature of perfection.

I saw in a blue haze all the world poured flat and pale between the mountains

I had hopes for my rough edges. I wanted to use them as a can opener, to cut myself a hole in the world's surface and exit through it.

I break up through the skin of awareness a thousand times a day, as dolphins burst through seas, and dive again, and rise, and dive.