Our time on earth is as striking as a shooting star,
a holy fracture in the fabric of night,
the universe leaning close to witness
how briefly we are allowed to burn.

We are not here to circle the fire,
nor to measure the dark for safety,
but to enter the flame with open hands
and let wonder take the lead.

Each soul arrives carrying a frequency,
a remembered note from before form,
and the heart is the only instrument
tuned to hear its call.

The mind bargains for continuity, safety,
but the heart speaks in immediacy —
now, beloved, now —
before the door of light closes.

Earth is not a waiting room for heaven;
it is the altar where heaven touches skin,
where breath becomes prayer,
and choice becomes consecration.

Follow what quickens you into truth,
what sets your blood singing with passion,
for hesitation dims the signal,
and longing was never meant to linger.

To love, to leap, to speak, to stay awake —
these are the sacraments of incarnation,
each moment asking to be met
without postponement or fear.

Blaze while you are passing through here,
your starsprinkles streaking the milky way,
for sacredness lives in the offering,
and eternity remembers the brave.