It cannot tell me whether I should step through, what I might gain, what it might cost.
The door may have no locks or many
or be riven open by some strange claws.
Either way there is but one key,
found in the flavor of a word
engraved upon the center of my being.
Spirits of courage and of compassion, be with me now. Inhabit the work of my hands.
Ennoble my mind. Grant me the lucidity to see into very marrow of what lies in the moment
between one step and the next.
Help me to embody the taste of truth and the beating of my own wild heart.
Image is of a rusty heart shaped lock in an old, scarred wooden door overlaid with the words of the prayer. Image is from Pixabay and edited in Spark Post.
Rooted Flame and a Deep Wellspring 