My resources lie in the crevices of a heart that seems to have exploded in my body,
or they are non-existent,
when all I can do is breathe.
My resources play in points of gratitude, in moments of presence, practice, and process. They swirl in the palms of my hand when they find refuge together on that spot mid-chest where I remind myself that this heart is still beating.
My resources ponder the blessings of that beat even when it feels shattered,
My resources magically arrive in the chameleon who was climbing the bamboo yesterday and again this morning. Or the cricket who serenaded us in the kitchen the first few nights of this war. Or in the way he embodied silence when I politely asked him to leave.
My resources hold me in the ground beneath my bare toes and they scamper with the ants who still go to work and the jackals who have returned.
My resources melt into a long and genuine hug, and they surf through all my tears.
My resources are my partner, our family, our home, a starry sky, a cool breeze, bird song, and sometimes a bag of sugar candy that makes me feel like a kid again.
One who believes the future will be kind.