Every poem is a prayer, lifting us up and over to beauty.

Loneliness is when the world no longer breathes. Lonely are we all, and starved for Spirit, for the
beauty of the voice of our mother, the first heartbeat we hear.

Sought later in rhythms of sound and echoing our desire for connection.

There seems to be an equally powerful force afoot – to drown out the subtle, the mysterious, the
miraculous. It feeds us endless novelty that addicts and then distorts what is sacred and richly
meaningful.

Yet, there is a rising call for a return to the circle, for hearing, once again, the ancients songs of
our coming together.

And equally, the silence, that sweet silence calls forth as well. Like the mother, our divine
mother, to let her stillness cradle us. Reuniting us with our voices called out from the deep well
where our true selves have waited patiently.

Patiently for the light and sun of our own poetry planted before our birth, to rise in beauty, in
wonder, in congress with all that is.

Our spirits were born singing.

They knew the truth of their voice, that crystalline vocalization is always there. Listen.

All the voices sing the same note of wonder. There is a promise within for our tired and lonely
ears. Listen.

Can truth be sung with such beauty that it will be heard on a level beyond doubt or fear?
Cynicism or control?

Unless we sing, we will surely never know.

The song is already being sung. Listen.

Join in. Even if just in your shower or dreams. It matters.