Also working on a chapter on inspiration, on re-connecting to the things in our lives, in our practice that delight us, to the glimpses of joy, union, lack of separation that draw us out of ourselves.
I’m thinking to use this poem as an opening.

Silver river breaking open in the first morning throats,
announcing great trumpets with tiny bodies or
not announcing, but asking, “Do you know what’s coming?”
not because they want to know the future or have any
faith in oracles, but because the flashing children birthed by
the night want to know if we – if I – if you
will be members of their tribe, be kneeling beside them with our
sounds and voices under the perfect blue choir loft of the sky,
of if they will bear the weight of ecstasy alone
for one more day.