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Footprints in the Wind^sm # 2079

There is a thing, we cannot live, unless we do.

This thing is fearsome. We do not want to do it. We must. We cannot.

This thing has no name. But we know it. Most frightening: it knows us. To the sinew and gristle and pulse. To the thoughts we do not admit. To ourselves.

Here is where we live. Here is where life erupts. Irrupts. Here is where the ancients past and future meet us. Here is where we touch our duty. Our duty to human. To live. To all there is.

There is a thing, we cannot live, unless we do.

How then shall we do this thing?

We look at, hear, smell, taste, feel the world we humans have created and ask what we did. We stay alert to what it says about human. And life. And long ranges. We touch what we can of this unnameable in the generations forward and afterward. We ever do what we most fear to do, what sounds our deepest sadness, what is most pleasing, what is most wonderful. We use these tools to drill ever further into the aquifer full and rich.

Please pass it on.

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