i remember my big brother skipping stones. always my hero, he was inordinately good at it. even over waves as they came into the shore. it wasn’t just the flattest stones, either. he could skip most anything. there’s a certain stance, a certain fingerhold of the stone, a certain turn of the wrist, and the stone would defy physics, drawing an invisible ellipsis across the water, touching ever further out.
the concentric circles. we sit in the middle of our own hearts, our own joy, our own pain, our own little worlds.
this mantra starts closest, a fingerhold on our own-ness. each repetition is a prayer for one who is a step away, two steps, three steps, a community, a country. the ellipsis goes on. the prayer is never-ending.
MAY YOU ©️ 2015 david robinson