Eggs
An interesting thing, about (poetry, and) prayer, is how it can’t be reverse engineered. (Pretty sure, and as always, Aristotle points out something similar in the Poetics, using terms almost im/possible to translate.)
And everything remains equally important.
Awake, not yet twilight, cats causing chaos. I cover eyes, determined to go back. (Wow, it worked.) Hours later, waking as digging out from under concrete. It seems more likely I never woke up.
(The invention of prayer. Begin with sleep and the way it/you works. Body is not machine. Simple acts are a negotiation, while the deepest consist of letting go. Make yourself an offering and the infinite becomes kind. Practice savasana, learn how to fly. Īśvarapraṇidhāna.)
As if death were the missing half of wonder.
Aspiring to harmlessness.
When in doubt (which should be much of the time), mind your own business. The trick is figuring out which business is (truly) your own. So, self-study. So, politics (in a failing, always, because they always fail, democracy). So, the divine. Which is infinite business, but try to make it your own.
Tomorrow, as begins a new lunar year.
Bismillah Hir Rahman Nir Rahim.
May our homes and our passages between homes be blessed. 🌘🌑🌒