A poem by Karen
There is no expansiveness more common than the soul
It is the gift of wings when feet are rooted to the soil,
when being is mistaken for limitation,
when something seems irretrievably lost.
Here, in a whirling heart, lives the height of joy.
Even with eyes closed, I can feel its fluttering
the invitation calling a name that belongs to everything.
Even with eyes closed there is nothing I have to do to find you.