Tracking a whisper across frontiers of change,
I collect travel technology;
for the atrium of unknown.
Caverns in my heart and belly where trust would be,
I used to call this feeling loneliness
but today I must relinquish my church of planning,
a homey voice in my telephone pocket,
for the land that roars ahead of me, stretching stranger
and wider than I can configure.
— Julia Daye
Last Friday, I met a man who hugged me so deeply,
he somehow transmitted into me a cloud
of wakeful peace,
straight past a layer of cerebral
exhaustion, straight through my body
and into my heart.
I thought he must be quite courageous
to allow these things to flow as
quickly as they arrived.
I recalled in shame how I had in the past
hoarded love, hoarded light, hoarded sweetness
in all its manifestations.
And I no longer needed to clamor for love
in so many places and things
because, this day,
in his infinite salutation,
it all was.
Music is the catalyst of my surrender
as You breathe me through it.
Let’s not congratulate ourselves
for the randomness of art or beauty—
someone stumbled upon a leaf
and framed it in his den.
— Julia Daye
I make this work because I hurt
and expression is my gesture of healing.
I make this work because I want to see
and expression is my lens for discovery.
I make this work, hopeful
that you will see it and recognize
your process in mine.
I make this work because,
with all the confusion outside,
there’s nowhere to turn but in, and this
is what will arise.