Sometimes you just close your eyes and jump... you don't think too long or maybe you just won't. Sometimes you just follow your heart, don't analyze too long, or maybe it might just be gone.
Holy is the dish and drain, the soap and sink, and the cup and plate and the warm wool socks, and the cold white tile, showerheads and good dry towelsand frying eggs sound like psalms, with bits of salt measured in my palm. It's all a part of a sacrament, as holy as a day is spent...
If I could turn down the noise of my own will and choiceI could hear the truth of my life in a clear voice. I will bow down my head to the wisdom of my heart...