I sense a rite in running,
rhythmical pounding
along the lines that skirt the town
following the fields, the signs that say leaving
the aching of my lungs
swallowed by the great open heavens.
Growth is in the soil.
We spring into life.
Activated, confident. Feeling the wriggle and pull of new desires.
To playfully, sensitively and intelligently cross lines, and empower others to do the same.
To give weight and attention to poetry and the power of words, written and spoken, and to infuse them with our movements.
To continue reaching for a profound and sustained practice of love, and giving love.
– The Spreading Fire
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