Inertia the novel...

I receive the galley proof of Inertia. It is in fact a book. A novel that I am preparing to send into the world as on a little boat with candles and flower-petal-confetti. I send it out on the waters of its gentle birth. It carries with it my most perfect intention.

On the night it is in transit to me, the night of my waiting, I am visited by M in my dream. He is sunny and sandy and fully alive. He is grinning and nodding his awe and approval, a look I remember well from when I would introduce him to a new poem, a new concept, a new meditation. It was so vivid, and I remember appreciating the accuracy and likeness of this dream M with the real boy I knew and loved in my time at HPA.

It was a simple message, one of many--it said, wordlessly, Yes. And Oh. Mmm. M's smile said You are onto it, Kim. This thing came into being of its own accord. It has its own life now. He expressed universal gratitude for my willingness to sit for three months straight at a child desk with a cafe chair and the hope of a trade wind to kiss my forehead from the high window I faced all that time. He said Thank you for being so small so these ideas could pour themselves into your long shadow, let you collect them like seashells or Job's tears, as from a river, set them against sky like morning stars. 

I knew when I woke that I was moving with the universe, not against it. That there was something divine in the whole celestial arrangement of those shells, those gorgeous little tears. I saw them as my love, grown from the grains of my early distress into the gift which I now lift over my head and offer back to the sky, to every single soul who desires it. Indeed, to God.