Out here we fast on slimming heaps of gratitude. None of us are greedy. Everyone gets their helpings. We chow down on gratitude and then pass it along making sure everyone gets their fill. Gratitude has become our beef stock our bone broth our nourishment. We feed then pass it on. The passing on is the thing. It is the right passage the lighted one. We have experienced countless wrong passages that left us hands high in the air cursing at clouds or weeping into scarred palms wondering about passageways wandered and why always wrong. But no more. We fast on slimming heaps of gratitude and no one moans no one bitches. Complaining no longer part of our vernacular. It has been eradicated. Abolished. A new day dawning has dawned for us and is perpetually dawning. The loop we are caught in is caught in us. Acceptance of all the key to one.

If music be the proof of love then play on. Someone said this once. We heard it in the volumes of echoes. There’s a lot we have heard from the volumes of echoes but you cannot discern the sources of voices. No citations only anonymities. Voices voicing with no bones holding distinction. Distinctions references footnotes all that left long ago. But to go back to what we heard said If music be the proof of love then play on. We decided that was us from what we were made. The gist of our essence raveled in this core phrase echoing from wherever. We have become a hymnal species kissing our mirrorless want on the lips.