I want to dance here in this music,/ not in spirit where there is no time.// I circle the sun like shadow. My/ head becomes my feet. Covered with// existence, Pharaoh; annihilated, I/ am Moses. A pen between God-fingers,// a walkingstick dragon, my blind mind/ taps along its cane of thought. Love// does no thinking. It waits with soul,/ with me, weeping in this corner. We’re// strangers here where we never hear/ yes. We must be from some other town.

Rumi

I am reminded of Pema Chodron who writes, “Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us.” Dancing here in this music requires an annihilation of the self — a burning down of what is, a bloom turned toward the sun, an embrace of shadows — for us to truly become a pen between God-fingers. Waiting with Love to hear yes sounds familiar to me. It feels like the perpetual longing I know in my bones. My indestructible weeps in the corner searching for home. May I be a be a pen between God-fingers.