Already Enough

There is a wild awe in remembering we are, always, already enough.

Not small, not too much, not needy in any way that demands apology.
Softness, in its dignified boundaries, holds rivers and storms alike. It welcomes the fierce anger that guards our sacred thresholds, the trembling wonder that unhinges us from numbness.

We walk through contrasted landscapes, trailing Mystery behind us like a companion just out of reach — sensing, feeling, sometimes locking eyes for a breathless instant before the currents carry us onward.

To reanimate kindness is no less revolutionary than to resist callosity.
To profusely adore is no less necessary than to grieve.

We are here to hospice the death of false measurements: needy, too much, not enough — these tired spells are breaking. Their ritualized burial makes space for something vaster: the courage to love without permission, the sap-rich tenderness of hearts made permeable by awe.

Soft wisdom is not weakness; it is spine and soil and song.
It is devotion — to co-liberation, to liminality, to the rivers running through all things.

We are, each of us, an effusive wonder, an unstoppable emergence.
We are accountable not only to each other, but to the soft-breathing kin of stone, of water, of wind, of soil.