At the end of this longest darkness I see you and remember who I am.
Not able to tell if the day starts with snowflakes floating or fog resting; fingers fumble to write.
The window is a stoic wall. My heart is the window.
In the safety of this sacred space I am learning to open.
Genghis Khan no longer holds the mic.
First shaking off the astral dust of last night’s dreams. Attempting to make sense of what remains.
A dried sea sponge in need of your salty water, I taste you. Soak me. Fill me. Expand me beyond form.
My house of mirrors is too dark to see in Brahma Muhurat. Pure fire strength only reflects light.
Follow the flame inward and know my outward appearance.
Purity comes in self practice.
Before warm colors splatter the sky always the question – how can I be better today than yesterday?