Come. Sit.
Tell me your story, if you have time.
Some people don’t, I know.
The great forever of Now is all around them and in them and through them and bursting forth in all they do and all they say and all that they are,
But they don’t have time.

Too busy getting done.
Too busy getting somewhere to be anywhere.

But what is done, but death?
Life is explosive radiating growth.
What wild free thing can be finished or contained or owned or understood?

Life doesn’t put things in boxes.
Boxes are coffins.
Done is death.

Just sit. Be here with me.
Be messy, undone, in process.
Be ragged, unhemmed, beautiful.
Like life.