{the spark}
(The recording of this was done during a most wonderful storm. You may hear the rain and even a little thunder.)
There are times.
When.
The Spark asks us to stand.
In the dark.
In the bright.
In the spaces in which we cannot see beyond the howl caught in our chest.
The spaces where the wind shakes us.
Loose.
From where we thought we had once been rooted.
Firmly.
As it is then.
It is there.
In the barren everything.
That we might be able.
To remember.
What it means.
To summon the Spark.
The crackle of the fire.
From which we were all forged.
It is then.
It is there.
That we might be able.
To let go.
Of the notion.
That it will arrive in a grand explosion.
Of fire.
To light the way.
To the known pathway.
Forged exactly for our adventure.
Neatly layered in rows and expectations.
It is there.
That we might be able to reckon.
With the truth.
That the Spark is simply that.
A spark.
Small.
And carrying with it.
Potential.
It is there.
That we might be able.
To take within us.
The readiness.
To know that we are needed.
As much as we need what we have called forth.
There.
Here.
We must be willing to breathe the Spark into fire.
We must be willing to burn.
And.
We must be willing.
To see the Spark.
For what it is.
Even as it hides.
In the ache in our chest.
We must be willing.
To see the possibility.
Even when.
It appears.
To be barely there.
At all.
In darkness and density…
With love and fire~
Jo Anna