Faith. The substance of things that soften our grip on control. Yeap! We are Faithees….the whole lot of us Thinkers, Sayers, Soothers, Chewers of Thought: we have received our own FireMill….
It warms our feet as we walk upside down on a planet tilted at her belly, doing solstices & equinox we say we see, but who ever saw the way we truly are…
and yet we see it everyday:
we lean hard at the love in our loved ones’ eyes, we clasp the pews of our Times, we inhale the heavens, we kneel our insides on thoughts we generate;
we are stone, we break, we gather the pieces of that and build foundations of asylums: where we hide our springs sourcing from a Power our iris cannot meet. We are the worm, blaming our cucoon on a Christ we refuse to believe in: we the midwife of this paradox we hold on to…
till our clay feet shrivel. But we hold on till the skins of our backs explode in wings. And hold on till the very furnace of our judging of that process shears its own midnight
and we hold on past where we snapt like grey cloud @dawn. You and I have been there more than once. We’ve had our miracles: things we never really did – Panels that went out of our control. Nah not even remotely were you and I that pilot. We were free falling baby eagles. We have buried parents and tears, we have died a thousand times. We have been Lazarus and Bartimeus & more than we know; we have been / are Recipients of Grace from days we hide like secrets in closets we keep within chests where small fires still peek out the jawbones of us. They fire us. But we roll dead dice for paper snakes & ladders. Ah we win we lose? We feeln’ better for a piece of warm victory we never factually own…
except in times like these where we might dare out our cucoon, to peer at What we need no longer control..
Rest, beloved. Hell hates when we realize we were naive enough to exercise faith in its ash.
Zaunteeeeee💜
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