Ruah Bull - Spiritual Director

    I could kneel and praise all small forgotten miracles, crackly paper peeling on the drainboard, pearly layers in smooth agreement, the way knife enters onion and onion falls apart on the chopping block, a history revealed

A man crosses the street in the rain, stepping gently, looking two times north and south, because his son is asleep on his shoulder. No car must splash him. No car drive too near to his shadow. This man carries the world's most sensitive cargo but he's not marked. Nowhere does his jacket say FRAGILE, HANDLE WITH CARE. His ear fills with breathing. he hears the hum of a boy's dream deep inside him. We're not going to be able to live in this world if we're not willing to do what he's doing with one another. The road will only be wide. The rain will never stop falling.

To move cleanly. Needing to be nowhere else. Wanting nothing from any store. To lift something you already had and set it down in a new place. Awakened eye seeing freshly. What does that do to the old blood moving through its channels?