waiting-- the great work of our soul. for, if we are not waiting, the current inside of us has dried. we are stagnant, cracked earth. but when we enter our hearts into the bravery of the smallest hint of expectation, we enter once again into waiting and its tide. the ache of desiring, of being alive. of hoping that one day while we live on the earth we will see the goodness of our longing. to wait is our journey with islands of fulfillment along the way.

"grief becomes a brick in your pocket. something you can carry around with you..."

some days it's a brick, some days a mountain, a cliff, sea of needles. when will it be enough? we are mistaken if we think that by waiting and stretching we are paying the cost of desire. we have earned nothing by being here. we have only changed; and our hearts, stretched taut by the pain of yearning, are now bigger.