Molly Longwell

Seven books sit on my bed frame, I’ve never had so many cracked open at once. I start one, put it down to read or re-read another. Moving still towards something’s natural end, rather than racing towards an arbitrary one.

Receiving and respecting a reality in real time. Patiently listening to my rhythm, when do I open and when do I close?

Letting my body absorb pain, allowing my spirit to perform and transform, without changing a thing.

I imagine little islands, none of equal size or weight, creating a path towards one rushing source. If you force or cheat, skip one to get ahead, you fall and you wade in limbo, destined to repeat until you stay still long enough to learn your rhythm. This is, seeing the source.

We are cosmos, cursed with a form. Only when you meet and trust the hand that guides you can you meet reality. Living there is love, in the present, to absorb and release in real time. That is, in your time.

When love is no longer a fantasy, it becomes the unabashed, the courageous and the terrifying present. That is, right here, the source.