When They Come

I’m meant to be dashing around odd corners in my rain boots, camera and notebook and pen in hand, ready to catch life by the tail and ride it.

It takes you to a dying man who glows blue, and you help him pass, and he says “Damn!” when your power explodes forth, and the sky shatters and falls with your scream.

I went deep and heard the howl of the everlost, and underneath, the chiming cries of the planet it’s raping. What do you do? Call the authorities? There are none–gone over or in hiding. You become the authority in those situations. The authority to look the world in the eye and say yes, this is better than that.

Say yes and no from the bones of your soul, and build the bridges you need from the sawn-up timber of the life you thought you wanted. Do it. Do it now. The hour’s late and there’s damage to repair.

Rise and walk with the gods, in kindness, creativity, gratitude and generosity. And above all, Truth, on which this authority is founded and rests.