With my rent miraculously taken care of, my life went deeply inward. I hardly spoke for over a year. Many visitors came, sat in silence, and left. Sometimes I spoke, but mostly I did not. The unwritten rule seemed to be that I would not speak out of discomfort or fear of silence. I would speak only when I felt that somehow a compassionate word might help someone I was with. Fasting, silence, and reading defined my life for several years... I didn't know if I was giving myself to foolishness or saintliness.
flit of brightness so startling they have to blink
to believe their eyes. Be the reason someone looks up
from the cracked blankness of concrete and remembers
the world is so much larger than what's locked inside
head and heart. Be the red swoop from free to tree,
the thread that stitches one uncertain moment to the next.