top of page


The sphere of life stops when a miracle happens,

pauses fully on its axis to say “What was that?”.

Albeit brief, we rarely notice the monumental moment,

for we speed on even when we get nowhere.

A miracle,

this thing that leaves a tiny gold dust pile on the knees of a healer,

awakens a life just before the door of death,

graces the sky blue sky with a rainbow on a sunny day-

and we just keep moving.

This sphere we ride on

rotates at the exact rate needed

to paint the seasons,

stun us with eclipses,

and keep us from all falling off.

This sphere we ride on

with its raucous hot, bubbling center,

jostling for position tectonic plates,

and mountain building rebel heart

slowly shows her majesty one layer of life at a time.

She stuns us

to awaken us

from this deep sleep

of vacillation between control and out of control.

Her billions year old self,

she tells a story about

our silliness,

our righteousness,

our huff and puff as if the house is ours to blow down,

but it’s not.

So let’s sit

for one minute

and ponder how the gold dust fell onto the healers knees

until we realize







to ever really get it.


we can just ride the sphere,

before the sun,


shine humbly

right here




bottom of page