The Songs Our Hands Will Sing

My eyes were opened to the ability each human has to create a world out of their words. And I fell in love with that truth.

It cracked me wide open, right down the middle. 

And every epiphany from there would fall on top of me like a fresh layer.

White linen of realization reminding me of how little space I take up for such a short amount of time.

In the grand scheme of things, I hold only ounces of that responsibility.

Though I may sometimes convince myself that I am holding the whole earth with only the ends of my fingertips, lungs strained, gasping for a breath of fresh air, I have lots of other lovely hands holding it up with me.

I am okay. We are okay.

The sky is still raging like a living multicolor canvas, and hearts are still pounding in hardy, hopeful chests.

It is the most profound purpose that our bodies know how to drink in oxygen and produce more that just what is necessary for survival. To understand that we are here for more than just making it through the day but to serve one another through selfless acts and artistry.

Green thumbs and healing hands, paint speckled skin, and fingers that summon sublime sounds from instruments. We can choose to speak light into life.

What a reverent power to carry beneath our bones.