We will open the day for you, and the night. We know that you are beneath the earth, or ash on the wind. But in some space or time you still live. Even as funeral bells clang and the priest swings the incense, the heart remembers how to open. We will invite you to the table to eat. We will light candles on our mantlepieces and in our hearts. We do not know what messages of light and smoke will reach you, but we will keep sending them. We will keep you alive in our longing, in our breath. We will sing with you, together in a space of music, even if you never sang in life. Love finds a way. It is not linear, with a destination, a closure. Love starts over and over, circling back to the source, the way two people lose and find each other repeatedly, but when they look into each other’s eyes they see each other—the light of recognition that makes the world whole.
‹Also in this Issue›
We are the land and the land is us. / Its holiness and grime cannot be dispelled from us.