Dear Big Man, I know you are as mired in activity as the most ornery members of congress but if there is any chance in hell that you can find five minutes to look on me and the ones I’ve loved and haven’t loved forever truly and bless us with teensy moments of bright quiet, I would be forever grateful. If you could look down on us all—the grievers, the mourners, the confused wanderers, the ever present coordinators, the lost sleepers, the vibrant welcomers, the sweet spirits—if you could throw a large blanket of peace and gentle awareness over us so that we know, deep down, that our powerful tears are the very thing that meld us together as if we are each other’s guardians. As if we are forged to be each other’s keeper with the worthy mission to keep one another safe and awake and alive. And if you can’t do that, Mister Man Universe, then at least occasionally can you whisper a reminder that, regardless of our staggering stupid self-righteousness, can you keep us out of harm’s way? Okay then thanks for your time amen you may now be seated.
Yours In Finding a Way To Flourish,
Lucinda of the Longing-ers