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This was one of my favorite shows, and that's saying a lot. When Krista asked why we find it so difficult to be with things as they are and Marie replied "'s because they hurt," the truth of that sank deeply into me. I've wanted to offer something to your show for a long time, and today I wrote the following poem which feels related to the resonances of Marie's words. I hope you enjoy.

We feel the threads of love,
and they pull us,
and sometimes we become so entangled
as to lose the feel
of whatever we're weaving alltogether.

But there is promise in their tension,
promise in the sensation of resistance we feel
between life as-it-is
and the murmured hummings
our love-threads tremble into our skin
as they wrap around our body.

That tension is potentiality,
transmuted into kinetic becoming
everytime we take a step
in love's direction.

As we dance with our threads -
as their hum is ignored or invited,
their insistence rejected or responded to -
let us become conscious of our choosings and trust,
if we have chosen love,
in the time it takes
for tension to play itself out.

Perhaps we don't move at all
but simply grow into master-weavers,
incorporating love's every suggestion
into a new component of our cardigan,
turtleneck, leg warmer, or nana blanket...
for these movements of the heart,
as grand as we may try to make them sound,
are everyday ordinary
and require no dramatic upheaval of self.

Unless they do.

As always
it's 'yes-and,'
and it's about
what's happening right now.

Right now,
faith is happening.
Right now I choose to believe
that through dawning self-acceptance
and patient application of truth,
what lives within me
will find expression
in our shared reality.

Right now
there is a stillness of perception
which has invited the otherwise fleeting moments
of a work-seeking Wednesday
to fully arrive and meet me here
and the majesty of simple, inconsequential things
quite takes my breath away.

Right now,
it cannot be otherwise
and any moment,
allowed deeply enough,
must throb with the same selfless love of this moment,
which brings tears to my eyes,
and silence to my pen.