And I am like a little owl, maybe. I build a totem in my dream of rose quartz and stars and it will help the warrior on his path toward the mystery and majesty of a universe which is, always, flowing through us, around us, among us, within us, without us. I pick up trinkets and talismans along the way like frogs and turtles and swallows and flies and I mark myself with wings to fly away and a star to bring me home. I drift forever upward into that vastness which I don’t need to understand to feel it in my center like a glowing swirl of pinprick lights, stand on tiptoes and block out the glare, to reach into my beginning, my center, my end. Pray for the constellation across my cheeks to always burn bright in sunlight and warm in the dark and breathe, slowly, deeply, madly, as I come to a flittering stop. Resting finally on this warrior’s shoulder and building a nest in his hair.
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