We live in a society filled to brimming, daily drowning in the excess of ourselves. We do not remember what it is to be still, to stand without moving, to sit and breathe deeply. We have blurs for hands, and in our ears dwell fervent whispers of "More, more, more". We are here in this place, this city built on the bones of other cities, and we are shrouded with noise.
And yet, we ache for simplicity, for silence, for the quiet assurance of a love that has no boundaries and barely definitions, the love that human words quiver about with diffidence. We sense the beauty here, the waves of real color that move at the corners of our eyes and in the shadows of the corridors of our hearts. We can describe, we can discuss, we can dance and sing and shout. We can hope and dream and long out loud, but our vocabulary is weak and passing.


This skin is a veil and a gift, and He Who Loves Us breathes through it, rattling bones and hearts. There is a kind of music as a result, a groaning within us that is echoed by the stones we place on our tongues.


We are ascetics and gluttons, altogether human in our humanity and altogether Other in the beautiful desperation of our heart of hearts.