I have a manifesto writtenthat I have not shared,
I have a heart still broken
that does not know how to forgive,
I have sadnesses waiting in the wings
that are not mine to heal,
yet the sun still reveals more beauty,
and the birds still sing in the face of thunder,
and my heart still knows how to love.
It is the weaving together of threads
that gives them strength.   

Oh!
the scars!
what a fine net they make!
to gather the stars!

This idea of me alone, comes from the same place of lack as this idea of me with someone else. 

I am always this iteration of self creating this self as it is, enacting this self as is with others. 

This self as me an individual. This self as oneness with others. 

Me. You. I. Us. 

Always. 

All-together. 

There is never a lack of Us.