There is certainty in a ring. The non-ending, the non-beginning. The ongoing. The way it holds on to you not because it's fastened or stretched or adhered. It holds on because it fits.

I get it. The things you hope for the most are the things that destroy you in the end.

New Yorkers love the bigness -- the skyscrapers, the freedom, the lights. But they also love it when they can carve out some smallness for themselves. When the guy at the corner store knows which newspaper you want. When the barista has your order ready before you open your mouth. When you start to recognize the people in your orbit, and you know that, say, if you're waiting for the subway at eight fifteen on the dot, odds are the redhead with the red umbrella is going to be there too.

I am starting to get tired of relying on words.

Once you experience enormity, it lingers everywhere you look, and want to be every word you say.

We do not start as dust. We do not end as dust. We make more than dust. That's all we ask of you. Make more than dust.

Enlightenment is scary. Sometimes things look better in the dark.