The moment is delicious.
That thought came to me this morning,
Delivered, as are all messages from beyond,
With a tiny prick of light.
And that is what we each of us is,
At our core—
A small speck of luminance.
No need to overthink it.
Still, we insist on identifying with our bodies—
The heavy costumes loaned to us
For this brief, silly play.
We weigh our wardrobes down with
Stupid little stories
And gibberish beliefs:
A childish trick to bury our light.
Yet we are all pinpoints linked to each other
On a grid we cannot see,
Much less fathom.
Those who transmit their light
Are few and precious—
And very often despised for it.
But only they receive the message of the moment.