Trust only movement. Life happens at the level of events not of words. Trust movement.
I’m down to just a few things on my desk: a cup of shells (from what ocean?), two beaded necklaces, a sheet of packing box labels. August’s calendar. Computer. Plants. The poster of the Navajo Dye Chart from eleven years ago when we moved here, off campus. A quarter. Some lichen-green post-its and a pen.
It comes to this.
I’m trusting that this movement out, away, will bring me up on some outrageous, wondrous shore, calling me forth to new adventures of the spirit.
image: Matala, Marc Para