First we rise from the altar of the world, from where feathers, bones, and seashells are the castaways of fresh dreaming.
Next, we look around, and we see in color. One pigment is astonishing enough, but a whole multitude? It ignites us, the way laughter transforms an ordinary room into a healing temple.
Then we move. We ask a question, yet who would bring all mystery to ruin by desiring an answer? I have seen other worlds and, I tell you, this one is a place of worship.
Now we hunger, thirst, create, come alive, truly. Snip the bindings of rusty limitation. When the boundary between language and music dissolves, you know you’re someplace extraordinary. You’re traveling without maps, making conversation with the world.
Begin now, if you haven’t already. Sleep is coming for us.