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A Return to the Sacred

I woke up today and felt the same

as I did yesterday,

and the day before that, too.

For a sliver of a moment,

a fraction of a second,

like the sun flashing brightly

blinding me of any view,

I forgot everything.

I didn't think of the panic.

I wasn't focused on the uncertainty -

all of the unpleasant images

our minds conceive

when faced with the unknown.

When staring down darkness.

I didn't look for reasons to worry.

I wasn't trying to remember the last

piece of news I read.

I didn't think of the wrinkles on

my grandmother's forehead,



as the chaos grows louder.

I wasn't setting my eyes

on the possibility of infection

going viral

among myself,

my family,

my friends.


in that brief space

between sleeping and waking,

I opened my eyes

and saw beauty.

I saw love.

The sun's rays,

trickling in,

my plants simply sitting


in the light.

Birds outside,




all because

they can.

All because

they want to.

The quiet,

the breeze,

the soft sensation

of Spring dawning.

I remember now

what it was like

being a kid,

not yet having ears

more attuned to the


Not yet having eyes

grown older

seeking the negative.

Not yet having a heart

waiting for its next ache.

I sat up in bed,

and with the slow



of the world's reminders

settling in,

I chose to remember

the girl

from many years past

who when blinded from

all crises

still arose,

still awakened,

still chose to see the good,

the enchantment,

the possibility of magic,

as though

that's the only way she knows

how to be.

As though that's the only way

she should live.

You see,

we are being reminded

of our youth.

We are being sent back

to the stillness.

We, our beings,

are being asked

to be.

Nothing more,

simply the return

to our former ways of being

when the world

wasn't all about

the destination

the perpetual force forward

but the unimaginable



that is ever prese