I am living here - the in between moments - the four walls that slant and bend and I'm afraid of falling through this porch when I get the mail. I'm living in an old ghost of a house, a shell of something that used to be vibrant. Beyond these crooked windows lies a world full of resilient people; they are buzzing about and shaking hands and being what we all want to be, pretend to be. And beyond their pleasant nods and polite words they live in cold walls with hard faces. Beyond this big city, my mind is swimming with wild horses and tiny houses somewhere uncharted and I like to think I would be a minimalist, that it would only rain when I'd want it to. I am living in a state of transition and the possibilities of what's to come makes my heart swoon and my mind swell and i'm edging toward something a little too dangerous, this "beyond here". Because we are called to understand that beyond all of this, this layered life, there exists a reality so tangible we would tremble to even know the way it feels, but we are also called to stay here - this place before what is beyond - to get up and carry the other, to put our hands in some dirt and create something, to wait under the burning sun.