God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.
These are the words we dimly hear:
You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.
Flare up like a flame
and make big shadows I can move in.
Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don’t let yourself lose me.
Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.
Give me your hand.
Book of Hours, I 59
Existence is a state of constant flux, as is what it means to be sacred
Those who will not slip beneath the still surface on the well of grief,
You and I have spoken all these words / but for the way we have to go, words are no preparation
"I hope to God you will not ask me to go anywhere except my own country
In the heart of Gaza, where ancient stones whisper tales of endurance
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