And somehow we still come to anticipate that “out of body” experience.

Holding tenderly the gifts of mourning and joy.

We mourn because there’s a depth to each of us.

Perhaps, we’ve even been the one who closed doors, shut or worse, slammed doors in the faces of others.

Externalize my anger with violence.

We are the measure of how we treat the most insignificant person in our life.

They are passed over, chosen over, looked over, forgotten. And over time, their identity slowly erodes, forgetting who they are.

The cost? They were out of step.

There’s an acute point of crossing where words transition from a distant “nice to hear” string of ideas, thoughts or sentiments to an actual demand.

In freedom, without fear. That’s the mystery of returning.