Mundane as Miraculous

Pesto on warm noodles. Sourdough bread, softening butter topped with honey. In slow consummation it is uncovered that Jessica is a pseudonym. We All write this. The error was in seeking outside of myself. When boundaries dissolved, I saw the sun rising. We are all different beams of the same light.

Dawn stays gathered behind November's curtain and yet, a sacred fire burns just beyond the shadows. Humility is oxygen when one goes beyond nobody. Who would I leave? What would I destroy and rebuild? Go farther than words, even these. For we were made to give a living expression to that which exists free of logos.

Fences fall apart. Highways break up into gravel and dust. The distance does not exist.

A stemless leaf spins in the numbing creek. It turns left, right and around, but remains held and carried. The mundane is miraculous; the little red bird chirping in the pines tells me so.

Now I see who looks at me behind the eyes – mine and yours – anyone's.

Now, nothing is hidden.