Time’s chakras are laid out like landmines, so let us be careful how we travel through these battlefield hours. One small misstep, and our insides are graffiti all over history’s walls. Still, the world’s wounds will not bleed us dry. Every morning, we rise above the pain to build a new song from bone, breath, belief. If you don’t trust its sweetness, kiss this new day. Our cruel world bears the taste of honey on its tongue.