Even when you’re sick to death with stage fright and quaking in the wings,

there’s always a moment,

just before you step on stage,

in which everything

stops

and you cease to exist

Time slows down

Miracles become mundane

A light-year no longer seems so far

In that moment, just before you step on stage,

all is inaudible despite the ruckus of a rowdy crowd

If you tried to, you could hear your ancestors speculating about what the future holds and, for a brief second,

they can possess you and breathe through your lungs

It’s sacred,

that final breath before you step on stage

The space between the inhale and the exhale can transform you into a reflection of

everyone you’ve ever known and

everyone you’ve never known

Before you step on stage,

you must cease to exist

and

let someone else do the

stepping