When things unravel with such fury, we conclude that something should be held responsible.
We look for a place to lay our blame, though the source of our pain often has the power to be a catalyst for growth, a facilitator of movement in stagnant waters.
If we can un-stick ourselves from the quicksand of resentment, if we can rise up out of our blaming the way mist rises from a lake, it becomes probable that we will find our way out of every yesterday and all tomorrows, arriving like a loosed arrow in the heart of this very hour, the mark of this very breath.
It’s okay if we haven’t learned this yet, we just keep trying. Eventually, when the nameless urge tugs at our navel, we will follow it more easily, breaking out of our old habits, though it takes everything (even the undivided attention of our bone marrow) to not step over the edge and sink like a stone.
We turn, instead, summon our courage, and go toward the very source of the tremors, run towards the fire, moving deeper and deeper inward – the way all those long winters have taught us.