“If I am made of nothing but my prayers, I might just then be beautiful. For in them are just endless darknesses, hope, rage, dreams, love, grief, holding, letting go, moving, staying still, being, unbecoming, longing, aching, touching, lifting, burying, crying, laughing, crawling, walking, dying, staying alive, human, angel, body, heart, soul, mind— me—in here, right here, whenever, wherever, in time, above time, always ever in intimacy with the divine”——Lea
“All I ask is not to die of all this fatality. I ask for poetry. For days filled with the soft sounds of the universe remembering I might exist here. For dried flowers to braid my hair, and God’s breath to fill my throat. All I ask is for the short duration of moments— on this shaky ground— to be raptured in the urge for what is most beautiful and divine, the things you can not utter in words, but whisper in intimate silences through forest treetops. I just want to know I have made some music of these awful sounds.”—Lea