If your temple tumbles into the insistent sea, and your faith feels lost and broken, keep your mantras close, and the memory of your worship sacred.
Build a new temple of trees and sky. Build a new faith of the shattered remains of you. Let the thick scars twist and bend and be a memory of faith lost and won again.
The tenderness that comes from the mercies we grant, and the pain we bear, and the wounds we salve, will make us more bonded for the trouble.
I am not quiet change, river stones and lunar moths. I am ignition and fire. I am cracked earth and volcano. A wonder of hot magma throwing off heat and pain and beauty.