She sleeps with fists clenched and wakes with bruises in her palms. She is reversible. She folds colored paper along creases that could break open the skyline, then quietly she unfolds it again. The moon rises.
In my latest post over on No Unsacred Place, an illness that leads to a hospital visit has me reflecting on questions about the relationship between health, healing, body and spirit and how we experience moments of transcendence even in the midst of danger: "If it weren't for these strange experiences of transcendence, I might be a pure animist. When I feel the wind caress my skin and it seems to me to be living and animate, filled with purpose and awareness — I cannot divide that sense of Presence from the wind itself. ..."