How often do we see?
How often do we see ourselves?
How often are selves inclined to be seen?
Is certainty only face to face?
The body tries to say all,
yet it barely offers what it can.
Wholeness, by design,
hinges on the lyrics of the heart.
Syncing breath with being.
Embracing ancestors in the blood.
We are birthed inert, yet bonded,
by ordinary miracles
and manageable necessities.
Being human – being perfectly imperfect.
Being mindful,
learning there is that watershed moment
which is a drop,
which is a stream,
which is the wave
that washes away illusion
that without the mud
there will be a lotus.
—ed sancious
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