When the woman in my head tells me that my battery level is low and shuts off my Bluetooth headset, I leave my earbuds in my ears and listen to the sound of silence.

I resolve to no longer bow and pray to the neon gods, to pay attention more closely to the words of the prophets written on the subway walls and tenement halls. 

Somewhere along the weary course of my life I have lost my way. My heart has been captured like a wayward moth by the flash of a neon light that split the dark night of my soul.

I have within me the path back; the smell of sawdust, the way her hair cascades over me, the smile of a friend across a cafe table, the feel of pine needles and red dust beneath childhood feet, the shivering carress of the divine during congregational song, the sound of pen scratching across paper.

The path is there. I have but to close my eyes to my old friend darkness, open them again, and take the first step back into the seeds the vision has been softly keeping.



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