I Sit In My New Room And

What Has Happened To Our Ability To Dwell In The Unknowing, To Live Inside A Question And Coexist With The Tensions Of Uncertainty? Where Is Our Willingness To Incubate Pain And Let It Birth Something New? What Has Happened To Patient Unfolding, To Endurance? These Things Are What Form The Ground Of Waiting.

I Can't Think Of Anything I'd Rather Have More Than Somebody Lovin' Me.

The Redness Had Seeped From The Day And Night Was Arranging Herself Around Us. Cooling Things Down, Staining And Dyeing The Evening Purple And Blue Black.

I Realized It For The First Time In My Life: There Is Nothing But Mystery In The World, How It Hides Behind The Fabric Of Our Poor, Browbeat Days, Shining Brightly, And We Don't Even Know It.

Have You Ever Written A Letter You Knew You Could Never Mail But You Needed To Write It Anyway?