for transformation are often the ones least able to escape themselves, and the noisy performance of change becomes both a declaration and a denial, an enactment of hope alongside an admission of its impossibility. To want to return is to admit loss; to believe in cycles is to accept that nothing is ever truly new.…

flower without pruning. The urge to erupt, to surge, to spill over every edge and boundary, this is what freedom is… © KD.W.Heim

a return to something ancient, a state of grace in which being is enough, and everything else can be left as it is, unsaid… © KD.W.Heim

flourishes; the world is at once quieter and more deeply felt… © KD.W.Heim

of attention; listen to the patient song of rain, the thunder of hail, the ancient poetry of wind over stone… © KD.W.Heim

as if it has been lying dormant all these centuries, waiting for its moment to speak by not speaking at all… © KD.W.Heim

once the present is no longer present, we will vanish in our ideas of each other’s pasts, searching in our ideas of each other’s futures, gone in the noise of the world we’ve created. But now, let us be found, in the space between breaths, in the beating of our hearts; we truly exist… ©…

of moments captured and stories woven; they hold within them the power to heal and to hurt, to connect and to divide, to be misunderstood and to be embraced. Words are both poison and antidote; every sentence is a tightrope walk… © KD.W.Heim

It does not leave entirely; it can be triggered again at any moment, by the right sequence of whispers, admixtures of fatigue, overcommitment or simply the scent of life. A turbulent system of conflicting impulses, each cycle of longing and repression incrementally eroding what little stability the construction of a self possesses… © KD.W.Heim

rather an empty seat in the audience… © KD.W.Heim