Flurry by Flurry

Snow falling in moonlight, no need to play the sufferer anymore. A lot of memory is unworkable narrative, let it go. The Kingdom of Heaven is a condition of coherence that is only possible when we understand how what is cosmic and what is local are one thing, then act and adapt accordingly. Slipping a little on ice in the driveway. When the affair ended, what was broken in the marriage appeared, whole prisms were unshrouded every time we talked. When you see what you have spent a lifetime avoiding seeing, then fear ceases to be your guide. You become an elder, take a seat at the fire, you say what is given you to say. The mythology of the cross is not unhelpful, once you understand myths are Protean, dialogic, healing. The unbearable loveliness, the unbelievable sweetness. The stillness seeding us, flurry by flurry. The moon is our heart, our heart is the shepherd of the ocean, and the ocean is the soul of the mother taking form so we won't get lost again. More lost? It doesn't matter, is the answer that none of us can quite bear, stunting as we do like Roman soldiers ticking items off their Good Friday to-do list. Lingering before going inside, happy to at last be happy. It really is "more than okay." We are called to a vast table, an endless feast, a literal party thrown by angels. To what else could the word "soul" possible point? Why else this quiet joy, this invitation to set what hurts aside. As hours later, when everyone is asleep, I write - sentence by sentence, poem by poem, work only you know how to read. Notes cast onto an endlessly beautiful lake saying this is what it means to be in love, this is who I am in love.