on the golden dust

We are staring into the dark and pooled orbs of every multiverse in the center of our irises. The magnetic pull of all the questions in all of these layers.

Where will we go? What do we do with our days? Can we make it?

and so,

We clasp our palms together and exhale with raised eyebrows full of hope.

I think that hope is as okay a virtue as any to cling to.

A rising tide lifts all boats, I am told.

The ripples of feet firmly resolute in their desires can span through many souls.We steadfastly hook to the horizon. Change always come in waves.

Maybe there is a golden dust speck that has risen from all the bridges that we have walked across and set on fire? The ashes and flames and red-hot specks become the particles to build a strength that will last. “The only way out is through”, he says.

How can anyone understand the fathoms of being human?Are we aliens, visiting ourselves in dreams and nostalgic inklings to stir up some dusty path to for our feet to follow?

There’s no question to ask that doesn’t feel big these days, and I am opening my eyes to braver horizons.

 

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