I don’t know how to love as deeply as I am called to. Maybe if I show up, returning again and again to this body, if I follow movement into prayer, presence and communion, I can join the revolution at hand.
So many die, as I sit in pine-paneled bars, where TVs bring stories into our evening on this remote shore of Lake Huron. No one notices, and when I express horror they turn and shrug, these stories far from the truth of their lives.
Communion is not when we reach out to another, join them in their space, dump the contents of our soul and lose ourselves. Communion is holding so strongly to the self that we are concentrated essence moving through space.