The music is an interlude, something to be done between breaths, and all of her body becomes an instrument, a slave to the music, to make something moving and brilliant in between breathing.

I remember once being visited by Persephone. “I wasn’t kidnapped, you know. I went down there of my own free will. You can’t know shit about Heaven if you don’t make peace with your own Hell.” Persephone and I still talk every time I go visit.

I am working to see myself as both ephemeral and insignificant as well as eternal and endless, an important particle of the body of God.

Today, I am not filled with the words of Rudolf Otto, or Martin Buber, or Paul Tillich, or Abraham Joshua Heschel. Today I am not preoccupied with what Kabbalah has lost to commercialism, or what I might have gained had I been able to stick it out in the Episcopal church a few months longer. Today, there is silence. It it the silence of slow waters moving themselves from one space to another.

Underneath the watchful eye of the pregnant moon, myth and magic shape the dark, breathe life into thick air, call out those of us who are restless in the skins we were born with.