Suffice it to be kind. There is no
secret to it, after all, no secret
to life that is undiscovered. We
have always known what to do —
we were born knowing. We feel
there must be more, something we
are missing, but the secret is that
there is no secret, just things we
hide from ourselves. The architecture
of our lives happens in reverse: we
first fill in the structure of our days,
and only in the end do we see the
whole plan of it laid out. What will
be the flesh of your construction?
Our souls are the objects we build
and the method by which we create
them — and their matter consists
solely of the choices we make. Suffice
it kindness. I think not that many
souls have woven into their drywall
too numerous its silver threads;
yes: it is the value of the whole
structure, I think: when on the
last day that Light on high beams
down upon the manufacture of
our essence, of what luminosity
will be the echo of your shine?
