We keep looking for a home though each of us is a home. And no matter where we run, we land before each other, thoroughly exposed. This is the purpose of gravity—to wear us down till we realize we are each other. Though we think we’re alone, we all meet here. Though we start out trying to climb over each other, we wind up asking to be held. It just takes some of us longer to land here than others. Once worn of our pretense, it’s hard to tolerate arrogance. Once humbled, it’s hard to withstand a litany of “me.” Once burning off the atmosphere of self-interest, there’s a tenderness that never goes away. This tenderness is the sonar by which we sense the interior of life. This tenderness is the impulse that frees us. For anything is possible when we let the heart be our skin. The point is to feel whatever comes our way, not conclude it out of its aliveness. The unnerving blessing about being alive is that it can change us forever. I keep discovering that everyone is lovable, magnificent, and flawed.
—Mark Nepo, from Things That Join the Sea and the Sky
Each passing year, we are asked to return to the ground of our spirit in order to go on.
Each passing year, we are asked to listen like the seed for our crack of light in spring,
to listen like the brook for our soft gurgle in summer,
to listen like the leaf for our orange face in fall,
to listen like the snow for a quiet place where we can powder down and rest.
Quote: Mark Nepo, Seven Thousand Ways to Listen: Staying Close to What is Sacred