I know the hard ground and the taste of the salt water I’m made of and the way even getting out of bed feels impossible some days. I know how some moments there’s not even enough air.I know the desperate and the bargains you want to make with the universe and every last prayer you’ve prayed to gods you don’t even believe in.But stupid? No, love.Not stupid. Not you. You are infinitely, impossibly, beautifully human.

To live this life. To live it with wholeness and gratitude and trust. In the pain and the glory. In the mess and the grace. In the sacred and the desperation. This is the stuff of which real superheros are born.

I wonder now, is there is a word for strength leaving your body? Or love?What of its arrival?Or is it only pain that the body names, and then only in it’s leaving?It is true, I know, that there are some things for which there are no words.Only the spaces between the words we know to say all that must be saidAnd I think about how some calls come deep, for years and years before I finally answer.I wonder why this is so. And I wonder what this tells you about me.

Life cracks us into unrecognizable shards of former incarnations. Slivers of our hurt and our pain and our shame nestles next to fragments of our truth, our divinity, our fierce reclamation of power.It is this very brokenness that allows us to knit together, kaleidoscope style. And we spin and shift and turn to the light until we appear brilliant, lit from within. Suddenly we are revealed; unexpected beauty born directly from brokenness.We have to be willing to break in order to become.