It is always the subtle, the dense, and what is in between.
The poet's wisdom uses words or It's the wave of a stranger's hand.
The sensation on my skin and how the atmosphere embraces me.
The moments of ease are the contents within the vessel of struggle.
and I find my self again and again, and again becomes the mantra, the breath, the tides....
Deep in this still lake there is a tender seedling of a girl sleeping within the bud of a flower.