Last Updated On September 25, 2015

 

Breath of life, kiss of death, my lips pursed the same, life is a beautiful struggle -Talib Kweli

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I was talking about fear when it swooped past my temple. Its dart shaped form thrum thrumming. Its happened so quickly, I could barely perceive the drop in pitch as it sailed by. My surprise sent effervescence spreading from my ear to my scalp. I imagined the bubbles rising from my crown and being neatly speared by its needle beak- pop! pop! pop!

Like the hummingbird of legend, mine pricked the tongue of the queen. Spilling crimson truth and saturating old stories. Blood to flame to smoke. The divine curling free and rising from the ashes.

My hummingbird unlocked and cleansed my fear. As I lay on the table, I imagined a deep red infused with purplish tones. It was visceral, smooth, and alive- like an organ, or a flower’s petal, or the ruby throat of a hummingbird. It bloomed from my center, receptive. Her hands probed my core in a spiral, dipping into the middle as if to gather nectar. She is guided by Maya tradition while my daughter is welcomed and fed by Maya women.

I hear a song and I strain to recall long lost Sunday school lyrics… “They will know we are Christians by our love.” I fear losing my loved ones. It is vast, black. It goes beyond distance, beyond mortality, this fear. But maybe. It doesn’t matter where they go, I go. They will know me by my love. I hold that. In my reddish, purplish, velvety center.

The spiral expands into an endless universe with points of light in forever dispersal. There is no center. It is disorienting. But abruptly, I find myself under the sparkling dome of my homestead. I smell earth and wood smoke. My face is warm and melted serene. I watch my children laugh and gesture and wrestle in the grass. I marvel at their vitality and perfection. Flashes of fireflies, crumbling coals and glow sticks dance in my vision. Our celestial bowl protects and preserves us.

And then fear rips through the canopy. I will never be this happy again. Because nothing makes me as happy as this.Nothing can match the almost transcendent peace I derive from having my family together. I am gripped with fear that I will never be truly happy again.

Silence. But for only the sound of a lone wooden flute.

This is life. Things change. Living requires allowing. This is what we are given. All the crying and sweating and chanting in the world is not going to wrap this white hot truth with a bow. No tidy lessons for this one. Things change. Kids grow up. Friends die. People get sick. Lovers are lost. We get old. There is no remedy. I see you, fear. I accept. I allow. I choose to continue.

 

Last Updated On September 25, 2015

 

Breath of life, kiss of death, my lips pursed the same, life is a beautiful struggle -Talib Kweli

 

I was talking about fear when it swooped past my temple. Its dart shaped form thrum thrumming. Its happened so quickly, I could barely perceive the drop in pitch as it sailed by. My surprise sent effervescence spreading from my ear to my scalp. I imagined the bubbles rising from my crown and being neatly speared by its needle beak- pop! pop! pop!

Like the hummingbird of legend, mine pricked the tongue of the queen. Spilling crimson truth and saturating old stories. Blood to flame to smoke. The divine curling free and rising from the ashes.

My hummingbird unlocked and cleansed my fear. As I lay on the table, I imagined a deep red infused with purplish tones. It was visceral, smooth, and alive- like an organ, or a flower’s petal, or the ruby throat of a hummingbird. It bloomed from my center, receptive. Her hands probed my core in a spiral, dipping into the middle as if to gather nectar. She is guided by Maya tradition while my daughter is welcomed and fed by Maya women.

I hear a song and I strain to recall long lost Sunday school lyrics… “They will know we are Christians by our love.” I fear losing my loved ones. It is vast, black. It goes beyond distance, beyond mortality, this fear. But maybe. It doesn’t matter where they go, I go. They will know me by my love. I hold that. In my reddish, purplish, velvety center.

The spiral expands into an endless universe with points of light in forever dispersal. There is no center. It is disorienting. But abruptly, I find myself under the sparkling dome of my homestead. I smell earth and wood smoke. My face is warm and melted serene. I watch my children laugh and gesture and wrestle in the grass. I marvel at their vitality and perfection. Flashes of fireflies, crumbling coals and glow sticks dance in my vision. Our celestial bowl protects and preserves us.

And then fear rips through the canopy. I will never be this happy again. Because nothing makes me as happy as this.Nothing can match the almost transcendent peace I derive from having my family together. I am gripped with fear that I will never be truly happy again.

Silence. But for only the sound of a lone wooden flute.

This is life. Things change. Living requires allowing. This is what we are given. All the crying and sweating and chanting in the world is not going to wrap this white hot truth with a bow. No tidy lessons for this one. Things change. Kids grow up. Friends die. People get sick. Lovers are lost. We get old. There is no remedy. I see you, fear. I accept. I allow. I choose to continue.

Last Updated On September 25, 2015

Breath of life, kiss of death, my lips pursed the same, life is a beautiful struggle -Talib Kweli

I was talking about fear when it swooped past my temple. Its dart shaped form thrum thrumming. Its happened so quickly, I could barely perceive the drop in pitch as it sailed by. My surprise sent effervescence spreading from my ear to my scalp. I imagined the bubbles rising from my crown and being neatly speared by its needle beak- pop! pop! pop!

Like the hummingbird of legend, mine pricked the tongue of the queen. Spilling crimson truth and saturating old stories. Blood to flame to smoke. The divine curling free and rising from the ashes.

My hummingbird unlocked and cleansed my fear. As I lay on the table, I imagined a deep red infused with purplish tones. It was visceral, smooth, and alive- like an organ, or a flower’s petal, or the ruby throat of a hummingbird. It bloomed from my center, receptive. Her hands probed my core in a spiral, dipping into the middle as if to gather nectar. She is guided by Maya tradition while my daughter is welcomed and fed by Maya women.

I hear a song and I strain to recall long lost Sunday school lyrics… “They will know we are Christians by our love.” I fear losing my loved ones. It is vast, black. It goes beyond distance, beyond mortality, this fear. But maybe. It doesn’t matter where they go, I go. They will know me by my love. I hold that. In my reddish, purplish, velvety center.

The spiral expands into an endless universe with points of light in forever dispersal. There is no center. It is disorienting. But abruptly, I find myself under the sparkling dome of my homestead. I smell earth and wood smoke. My face is warm and melted serene. I watch my children laugh and gesture and wrestle in the grass. I marvel at their vitality and perfection. Flashes of fireflies, crumbling coals and glow sticks dance in my vision. Our celestial bowl protects and preserves us.

And then fear rips through the canopy. I will never be this happy again. Because nothing makes me as happy as this.Nothing can match the almost transcendent peace I derive from having my family together. I am gripped with fear that I will never be truly happy again.

Silence. But for only the sound of a lone wooden flute.

This is life. Things change. Living requires allowing. This is what we are given. All the crying and sweating and chanting in the world is not going to wrap this white hot truth with a bow. No tidy lessons for this one. Things change. Kids grow up. Friends die. People get sick. Lovers are lost. We get old. There is no remedy. I see you, fear. I accept. I allow. I choose to continue.

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