The invitation.

I invite you to turn off your device for a little while this week. To leave it at home when you leave the house. To step out of its rapturous glow, and out into the cold light of the full moon before the sun rises. To hear the leaves moving on the trees, and to have the heat of your body stolen by the wind. This is an invitation to silence. To boredom. To discomfort. To empty space. That is the invitation this morning.

I invite you to lean into a space of mysticism and magic this week. A space of gratitude to the earth that you walk on, to thank the sun for rising, and its light which grants life to everything. To be aware of the gift of your parents, and their parents; to remember yourself extended back in history, brought to this moment not because of your choices, but those made by people you never even knew. To realize the depth of truth that you are an extension of the universe, part of a larger whole. This is a chance to see yourself as you are, as part of a larger tribe that is aiming its intention in a specific direction.

I invite you to leave nothing undone this week. To put more in than you think you can give. To pay a toll for the crossing, entirely on faith that this community will support you if you find yourself without enough. There will be a resistance to this. You will be told the choices you are making aren’t healthy, that they are foolish. You will be told by those unwilling to try, that what you are leaning into is something you should avoid. You will hear the voice of mother culture screaming for you to engage with her. To be distracted and sedated. To feel less. To avoid the pain. You will be told that what you are pursing is madness.

Yet.

I invite you to see yourself from just a little distance; the modern human. Bent over, soft body layered in clothes and lotions to protect from the universe itself; from the cold, or the heat, or the sun. Seated alone in dark rooms, avoiding the eyes or company of others. Staring unblinking at a glowing rock in your hands. Consumed with the stories of people you have never met, entire lives dedicated to the changing of numbers seen only within the glowing rock you hold. I invite you to see yourself for a moment. Then I will ask you what looks like madness.