Sometimes words visit me in the middle of the night, flashes of poetry and song. And I feel like a dreamcatcher, a witness of stories being offered in ways that I could never have deserved. And the only way to respond is with profound gratitude, for these words that chose me of all people at 4 am on tuesday morning. To be honest, that is as close to a miracle as I get these days, and I will gladly take it. I will turn on the light and write the words that want to be written, sacrifice sleep for this feeling of joy and connection to something beyond the reach of my four walls. Yes, of course there is the daily work too, the practice without magic, the long dry stretches. But my secret wish is that they are simply preparation for these moments of receiving. Somehow, this mid-night grace reminds me of that time when hail fell in sudden raucous downpour. And my kids and I looked up in surprise and breathless delight that we were home, home on Monday morning that is normally school and work To witness this majestic display of ice falling from the sky. Before were endless days of damp drizzle, until finally, finally our chance to feel something, to embody something greater and grander than we could ever understand.