The first quiet hours of the day are for me. Precious and rippling they pass hopefully, prayerfully, mightily through me. I am sitting in the before. Before the long and busy hours begin and my task list is set. Before I see my own face in any reflection.
I am here. I feel it in my hip that still aches from being stretched and then not being stretched. I feel it in My heart, whole and then empty and then whole again. I feel it in the stiffness, in the ache, in the flutter kicks of my very soul as it is lifted like a flag in the breeze. I feel it — here, this moment — claiming me and folding me into itself as I arise into the next. I hardly know that one has gone.
There is no question of belonging.
You do not make it here, to this moment, if you do not belong to it.