Something snapped inside of me.

I can only do soul-satisfying work now

alone

and with people I love 

I’ve been apprentice

to the phenomenon

for ten years.

And find it has more to do with

community support

expanding love

ceding control

appreciating freedom

recognizing instinct

bowing to curiosity

visible foolishness

laughing our asses off together

reliable magic

and flowers left on luck’s glorious flaky altar

than it does with being picky about

exactly what gets done

who shows up

how I am compensated

what my title is

and everything else

I thought I should care about.

In my world

this being here

this learning what actually matters

is the work.

A paying close attention

to the experience of our being

and offering it to God or anyone else at all

as a gift

with as much gratitude, surprise, delight,

and personally curated foolishness

as we can muster, make manifest, and admit to.

This is my work because it softens me.

By the time I’m 90

I will be a downy warm blanket

or puppy’s tummy

for all the hands that touch me.

This is my work.

It’s time to start doing it without apology.