Quiet now, love

I don't have a pretty picture to put with this.

I don't have some shocking thing to say. 

I don't have some bowl-me-over truth.

Just simply what is true. 

Here I am. In a vastly new space from a year ago. I've really stretched my voice this year. I walked all the way to the edge of the earth and sat down, barefoot, looking into the blackness and brightness of everything.

Many things have died. Except me. I am more alive than ever.

I'm going to be quiet for a little while, love. There is some unknown ahead. A lot of joy. Infinite tenderness. Questions. Maybe some answers. No matter what happens, I will be doing some deep-soul-searching and being and wondering and dancing and finding my words and loving and being loved.

I might even write that book I've been dreaming of.

This space holds a rich archive. Not in volume, but in vulnerable and mostly uncomfortable truth. I may be right in some things. I may be wrong. Maybe I'm right and I'm wrong. Nevertheless, it is eight-thirty-one on the twentieth of September and here is what I know:

God is a good, good Father.

This is not the end.

Just believe. That's really it. No sneaky agenda. 

(I wish I knew that a long time ago.)

It's all worth it for the joy.