Thread

She talks about a thread and it’s a teaching I’ve heard

before but today. Today it enters my lungs. My fascia.

I see the sea to my right, clear sight after days of Sahara

dust, by which I mean decades of dust of the mind. Find

the thread from the hip to the knee, she says and she’s

talking body and I’m thinking life. I’m thinking of this

exact moment—8:51am. Monday, February 16, 2026.

The day I turn 56, the thread all the threads that have

brought me to this moment. Which is perfect because

it is. Because I don’t need it to be anything. But this

moment. Because for so many years all I wanted was

what wasn’t, more this less that, insatiable everything.

But—what if? Every breath I ever breathed brought me

to this moment? Find the thread attached to the top

of your head, she says and she’s talking posture and

I’m thinking how to walk the earth.