"What would it be like to listen to the poetry of your life, as to the poetry of Rumi or Mary Oliver or David Whyte?" - Jay E. Valusek
Every day, we awaken to write the next word, the next line or stanza in the epic poem of our life. Some days, the pen remains suspended in the air, leaving that little space—a lacuna—between the lines. Other days, we find a rhythm of our own, the words begin to rhyme, and time begins to flow from line to line without apparent effort. We listen to the sounds of the world, the seasons of the soul. The poem goes on, never quite finished.
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