Speak to me about the silvery rain

Don't talk to me about all things "spiritual." I don't know what the word means. Leave aside oxidized concepts, put down the books.

Tell me instead what it's like to sit by the fire. Speak to me about the silvery rain; what your feet have touched, your hands caressed and your eyes have missed.

Tell me about the longings of your heart, what's aching or burning inside you, the gifts this life has given and taken, and how many miracles you witnessed in a single day.

Tell me how crazy life has been, fill me in on how well you slept last night or how tightly you held your wailing child. Speak to me about the music that let your hair loose, the silences you bathed in.

Tell me about what's ordinary or boring or frightening or immensely wondrous and mysterious. What you have seen and still questioned. Anything you don't know and everything you'll never forget.