You don’t have to move up and out of your life
to create something new.
You just have to move
down and in.
Start with your breath.
Plant your feet on the kitchen floor.
Notice the summer heat outside the window,
the basket of tomatoes on the counter,
their skins splitting with so much
sweetness.
Here, the silence is it’s own kind of music,
pulsing past the din of the soundtrack
in your head.
Here, the silence holds the unsayable,
the irreducible.
What happens here is yours and yours alone.
This is the threshold where the veil is thin.
This is the place just beyond yourself
which evades description.
You have only
your breath,
your feet,
the window,
the basket of tomatoes,
and your presence:
a covenant of salt
tangled up with the silence.