One Day After Many

To aspire to, and breathe with God. To practice kindness without a hint of lust, or an expectation of a reward. To fall. To fail. To exhale. To be reborn. To not have to remember much, if anything. To not worry over what’s been forgotten; then to remember again.

There was a winter or summer with your family. You were at home with them. Each of you the same, as you ever were.

You are a peer in the making; a man among equals holding eagle feathers, and code talking with Navajos. You want to be loved by the land where you were born, to carry a piece of that dirt close to you, maybe in a pocket, or a small bottle strung with pearls.

The mystery of smoke and pitch sparks grace the air. And a peacefulness unasked for, holds you like an explanation about everything or nothing at all.

 

 

 

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