It Begins with the Voice

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The voice is gentle.
The voice embraces.
And it passes throughout us, curled up in every little corner and sitting in every tiny closet.

The words are intimate, in heart and body and mind, bringing every little tiny moment.
“Feel your breathe beside me in my bed
“All the sheets are tangled in my legs…”
“You kissed all my tears
“But my cheeks never dried.”
“You know it’s harder when you hold me
“You get me searching for the ceiling.”
“Take my hand… falling on our knees.”

“There is a weakness in the knees.

“We are such fragile things.”

And we are fragile with the fragile voice, and we are small together where we were small alone.


And alone in the darkness with so much hurt that we’ve been through is a message from the heart: barely audible so it is weak, but to those with ears to hear it is a beat steady and strong, rising and falling.

The heart is the ocean.

And it carries us effortlessly, it carries all of us effortlessly, cheerfully, with overflowing power that must finally crash on the sand and burble backwards again, never gaining or seeking a foothold, permanently impermanent. Our skin is held for an instant and we rush ever higher, embracing our fate with our embracered heart, and swollen with joy we cry out:

Oh, love! Write it in the sky!
Oh, life! Once more!

The weak cannot choose to have claws. The small cannot choose to become grand and sweeping. In Kina both powers triumph. The delicate that crumbles apart, the littlest worrier, silent prayer by candelight. That which burns the sky, silences the stars, the hand that stretches beyond the horizon and wills: you will ALWAYS be my dear!