holy

sunday is not a day of rest.

but it's sweetness makes my head breathe deeper & my papery chest swell bigger.

today i felt that buzzing. not the normal anxious kind, but the one happy coursing my veins. the buzzing saying i'm blessed & shadow can't touch me. at least if i don't let it.

holy. i guess that's one way to describe it.

i think it was the reggae swing & her mic-ed praise & those clove burns. or maybe it was the extra lime & the gin & the ice. or maybe it was that bike & the view & the  moon. probably some sort of everything.

i remember those words, the ones about holiness. how holy is connection, how holy is what you make it.  that phD-ed nun knew, and this weekend i did too.

i guess sundays can be a day for gratitude. maybe sundays are for seeing sacred in the small.

either way, i'm lighter for it.