Whenever I am at the bus stop, I remember that its secret name is bus shelter.

And then I whisper: SHELTER.

I fill up on shelter.

I breathe it in, as a quality that lives somewhere inside of me and is sparked by this moment of remembering it.

Collarbone lungs.

Wally told me once that the lungs extend all the way up to the tips of the collarbones, even slightly over the edge, almost curling over them. I can’t remember exactly. He said it so perfectly.

God. Our lungs, our amazing, amazing lungs.

Breathing all the way down into the secret corners, all the way up into the secret nooks and hidden openings.

I love this.

Especially the moment of imagining.

Thinking about this makes me feel like a butterfly.

Even though butterflies don’t have collarbones. That sense of spreading, opening, outstretched.

This is what I am doing with SHELTER.

This is what I am doing with SHELTER.

Breathing it up into my collarbone lungs. Imagining that shelter is kissing my butterfly spreading heart.

I become so full of shelter that I am sheltered and I am sheltering and I am all the shelters.

Sometimes I can’t do that. But I can still stand under the shelter and remember: shelter.

It’s like being under the canopy. I love that word. Canopy.

Under all kinds of canopies — of stars. Of trees. Into the sukkah. Which is its own tiny temporary home. Making space through covering things. It’s a blanket fort, really. The canopy of peace, remember?

Hello, shelter.

I say hello to other things too.

I say hello to other attributes related to shelter, because all qualities share genetic material.

Hello, sustenance. Hello, grounding. Hello, protection. Hello, going inside. Hello, receptivity. Hello, presence. Hello, delight. Shelter allows for delight. This is something I learned from shiva nata.

Sometimes I write on the palm of my hand with a finger: Shelter.

Sometimes I am a bell (Havi is a bell, Isabel is a bell is a bell is a bell), and I ring a a secret bell.

I ring the bell of shelter inside of me, and then I reverberate with shelter and being sheltered.

Or I ring the bell of shelter inside the shelter, and then the entire shelter comes back to being a source of shelter.

Sometimes I look for clews or wonder what I know that I don’t know that I know about shelter.

I claim the superpower of shelter, and then I take it with me onto the bus.

I take it with me.

Breathing it through my collarbone lungs.

Remembering that I am in the costume of a person riding the bus, but really I am riding this truth of shelter.

As a secret glowing heart of shelter. Safe inside of my shining force field shelter. Quietly humming the bus into peacefulness because this is what happens when I have SHELTER.

Notes, responses and murmurings. The commenting shelter.

Wally is my massage genius. His hands are always warm. He knows what is good. If you come to Rally (Rally!), definitely get a massage with him. He is in upstairs from Stompopolis and down the hall from the Hidden Playground.

Today I am receptive to: all the words! Words like: SHELTER. Or comfort. Or delight. Or if you have a word you would like to breathe in and you want to whisper to us what it is, that would be beautiful.

I am also okay with things that have been sparked for you or other places/situations where you practice or might feel inspired to practice this or something similar.

As always: we all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. It’s a process. We take responsibility for what’s ours, we let everyone else have what’s theirs. We tread gently.

Hello, sweet words. Hello, butterfly breath. Hello hello hello.