If I'm, when I'm 
standing on the edge
how can I be sure to feel 
the wind and not
be blown away, 
over the edge, 
into thin air.

Is it even me
standing there?

I used to always think
that I was giving it all away
with every word I uttered
every feeling that I shared
every touch exchanged
I thought I gave it all away.

Then I saw the trees did not
keep track of all the leaves it dropped
or the winds that whipped it back and forth
or the scars the other beings left.
The trees did not keep track 
of every leaf that fell.

In the falling is the letting go.
In the letting go is the setting free.
In the setting free is the coming together.
In the coming together we cycle back again.

The sharing never meant that I
was losing any parts of me,
or giving anything away.
I let the pieces of me, like leaves,
drop and fall away, and return
to the place from which we came:
the ground, the earth, the everything.

The sky's on fire
The dawn is bleeding
I'm still breathing

The dichotomies are not separate, they are one in the same.
The differences are the points of meeting, the points of union.
The tensions are not the enemy, they are the places full of the most potential.
Potential for growth, for expansion, for depth.

Separation can inspire liberation and empowerment.
Isolation can stabilize.
The fearful disintegrates to dust.
The whole becomes nothing.
No more power.
Fear never meant anything.

“When you realize that you can leave every self-definition behind and still you are, then you begin to see that these thoughts must not be what you are. In other words, who are you when you are not thinking yourself into existence? Who are you when you give up all thoughts, even the ones that you are not supposed to question, such as, ‘I am a human being. I am a woman or I am a man. I am somebody’s daughter or son.’ You start to see that when you are not thinking yourself into existence, who you have taken yourself to be literally isn’t there anymore. If this ‘you’ can disappear like that and reappear as soon as you think it into existence, how real is it?”
— Adyashanti

These are not my words, but they could not be more relevant to me right now:

“There’s something within you that knows what to do. There is a power greater than you that knows how to take care of you without your help. All you’ve got to do is to surrender to it. Surrender your thoughts, your mind, your ego, to the current that knows the way. It will take care of you. It will take better care of you than you can ever imagine.”
— Robert Adams

Big trees, dense woods.
Steady rain, thunderstorms.
A night in my tent, alone.
Silence, save for the sound of my breath.
A group meditation.
Five or more people making sounds for an hour.
Art that leaves me gasping for air.
Something I've never seen or heard before.
Something I've never felt before.
Hugs that feel like they'll never end.
Improvising with dancers.
A late night island adventure.
The sound of frogs.
Newness.
Risk-taking.
Listeners.
Movers and shakers.
The safe space keepers.
A clear stream.
Foggy mornings.
Gentle mists.
The rhythm of my feet, matching my counted breaths.
Your hand on mine.
Anything but the familiar.
Everything else.

Eyes squeezed shut,
Brows furrowed with passion,
Mouth flapping, mimicked nonsense words,
Head shaking back and forth,
Life surging through her.
Raw, unimpeded, deepest play.

Bring me back, bring me back,
Again and again,
Bring me back, sacred moment.

My gaze drifts too far ahead,
Bring me back again, I beg.

If I sang a million songs
If I wrote a million words
If I did a million things
Would I really know me better?

Isn't it absurd?
The way we give weight to the ever fleeting?
Isn't it so strange?
The way we feel different in each moment?

None of it matters.
None of it means a thing.
Yet my silly human mind
is so desperately clinging
to what could and could not
to what should and should not.

And none of it is real. 
It's all just dust rolling by.