The day is conscious of itself.

Sing to me in the silence of your heart and I will rise up to hear your triumphant song.

Give up to grace. The ocean takes care of each wave 'til it gets to shore. You need more help than you know.

Whoever finds love beneath hurt and grief disappears into emptiness with a thousand new disguises

I do not know who lives here in my chest, or why the smile comes. I am not myself, more the bare green knob of a rose that lost every leaf and petal to the morning wind.

Not Christian or Jew or Muslim, not Hindu, Buddhist, sufi, or zen. Not any religion or cultural system. I am not from the East or the West, not out of the ocean or up from the ground, not natural or ethereal, not composed of elements at all. I do not exist, am not an entity in this world or the next, did not descend from Adam or Eve or any origin story. My place is placeless, a trace of the traceless. Neither body or soul. I belong to the beloved, have seen the two worlds as one and that one call to and know, first, last, outer, inner, only that breath breathing human being.

We can't find the truth listening to our own voice's echo. We can find ourselves only in someone's mirror