Photo credit: Wendy K Yalom

So, you signed up.

That means you get to

laugh until rivulets

run down your legs.

That means you get to

run towards certain death

with a wide open heart,

giggling.

It means you get to lose yourself

in eyes and arms and

scent. It means you get to

hurt so deeply you cave in

upon yourself. It means

you get to turn to ash with rage.

It means you get to feel unworthy

unloved, unclaimed.

It means you get to pile on

the illusions of others

until you forget your name

and wander around rooms

alone, until you shed them suddenly

one afternoon while splashing

around in a smooth, cold brook.

It means you get to weep

in Hawaii as the sun rises

over a volcano as an elder

sings, the most beautiful thing

you have ever seen.

It means you get to long

so ardently you burn yourself

up into pure light.

It means you get to draw

and paint and splatter

your experience into tiny dots,

minuscule, deliberate brush

strokes or wide swaths of

bright, messy hope.

It means that you will forget

that you signed up

for this.

It means you get

to live. And it is your choice

how you will do that.

Choose fire.