Visiting the city this weekend and breathing in questions:
When something is growing inside of us, something seemingly not “good,” how do we accept it as part of us? How do we love it?
When another person’s art – a ballad, a painting, a story, a meal – enters us via our eyes, ears, or mouth, where does it land? Where does its echo reside?
When someone serves us, how can we return that service – not directly but through service to others?
Sitting with myself in the midst of thousands of others. Inviting connections – meeting the eyes of old men sitting on front porches, touching the arm of a waiter – and loving how each act, no matter how small, reminds us that we are together. Spending hours with one of the people I love most in this world and noticing again and again how we will be in the same physical space and yet so separate, each of us in our own thoughts, and then something small happens, often unseeable, and we are back under each other’s skin, inside each other’s breath, aware of the self beneath the gaze.
Pulsating between contentedness, joy, sadness and learning to witness the dance while also dancing it. Honoring expansion but also contraction.