There’s something funny about the idea of being known. We like to think we know other people. That we know who or what they are capable of. The folks we watch on television, in movies, or read about in newspapers, elect to government, observe on social media, etc. We like to think we know them. But do we really? I have spent years of my life with people and in time realized just how little I truly know them. Most people are and remain hidden. Even from themselves. We are mysteries unto ourselves and each other. What is this world? A kind of glowing, twisting and morphing amorphous light. I don’t know you. Never met you. There is no word for what you are. I met you in the realm beyond language. Beyond sight. Where spirit and soul dance and intermingle. This kind of laughter. Such sweetness.
How many years until the rain is singing your name?