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Except for the point, the still point, there would be no dance, and there is only the dance. – T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets
Close your eyes and find the still point at the center of the dance.
It is a waltz of sacred contracts, broken promises and forgiveness.
It is heartache, challenge and laughing at the same jokes again and again.
It is relying on the wild-child beauty of each new morning
as we wake to discover
we are still right here
as always.
—where I hunt the ground for soul stories and you tell me my life.
It is little deaths and rebirths.
Awkward dancing, ultimatums, tantrums and amazing sex.
writing and rewriting birthday cards, love notes and "to do" lists...
renegotiating romance, boundaries and who's the boss of whom.
Here we are dreaming together,
growing together,
making messes and cleaning them up together.
An ode to sacred fire, lemon trees and little lotus heart mermaids…
all the things we make together.
Sopping up the freedom that comes with sometimes being wrong
—ticklish in the fear spot and not at all ashamed to laugh out loud.
This is me learning all about you, and still finding you a beautiful mystery.
This is you and me.
It took me all day to get back to you. Just a single moment to be home.
