Truth
every day feeling more humbled
that all the things this world taught me to set my sights upon, take me farther and farther from the sacred space for which I long
every day, more and more
seeing how the achievement
and the striving and
perfectionism and performance
are glass ceilings, golden handcuffs,
binding me in illusion
it is hard to be here, to find a way to weave dharma and financial stability and creative expression while not losing mySelf, the jewel, in the briary thickets and sticky webs
but to keep going
down
down
down
listening to moss
to the wisdom of worms
and weeping again and again
for the hours lost to illusion
and to trust that there is still something sacred left in this world, and that as I allow myself to become nothing at all, it may find me