How are we to mysteriously surrender to the creative abundance of darkness?
No one is transformed by thinking. It is our nature to *relate*, not contain.
When the wind whistles through my helmet, I sometimes hear whispers mixed into it.
“There’s something happening here. What it is ain’t exactly clear.” Except to the child-mind and -heart
Moments of pure loving as we held and simply adored our babies… What happens to those?
Each of you who has loved me has been God’s face for those moments