Picture: When The Morning Stars Sang Together by William Blake
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Ten thousand things,
Rippling dust of the cosmos.
What would that mean without the void?
Without that utter sea of blackness
Surrounding archipelagos of gleam?
Envision the impossible:
You’re here to remember,
You are of the stars
And
Of the obscurity around them;
You are shipwrecked,
Hopelessly shipwrecked,
Yet cherished and guided,
Infallibly guided.
Put it back together, remember,
At each and every single moment, remember:
How do you wish to navigate these waters?
How?
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Herons