After the whirlwind engagement, the kiss of possibility, we wait to settle down - we float in that unweighted space achieved through swift acceleration and release - a practice place for astronauts and anyone who needs to feel no gravity - anyone who needs to learn a realignment independent of the forces of other fervent orbits
Anyone who yearns to move in concert with the whole, recenter to the source that tunes us all.
I walk myself back from the edge (or tell myself to) before I throw my hopes down on something that could never hold them, before constructing a set of cautions which themselves are anyway already over the edge
I put myself back (or remind myself to dwell) where light falls lightly as light upon my scenes, illustrating and establishing what is real
So I avoid a heavy handed projection, avoid an expectation, avoid interpretation of what simply is - the evidence of present care and nothing less, the everpresent touch of tenderness.
So much to give thanks for, silently expressed, as in the glow of moonlight, and its shadow, across the porch, the mute shining of the fields beyond
I can't even list all the good things - this gratitude is for the presence that lies along perception, sudden significance of every smallest thing, the Love that wraps them, regardless of their form, in their own incomparable truth.
I'll take gentleness - it's better than offense. It gives a landing place where anything that's beastly can snuff and settle, turn around three times and fall asleep, maybe even feeling gratitude for being let down softly
I'll take laughter - it ripples over anything that otherwise might snag. It turns a snarl into a song, lets us feel happy, lets us be together as day glides into evening, easy forgiveness replenishing affection.
Look inside to find the things that can't be crushed even under pressure - they will keep you safe
They emanate infinity - they joyfully spring forth, and nothing can compress, repress, depress them
They sing like streams through rock, sing of their source, which is their substance, which is what everything is made of - you, too - yes you, and all your life and everyone you love.
We watched the fog come in over the hills and then swallow them. We saw how it banked around to fill the valley in. It took the fields, but not the closest trees, and then, itself, was swallowed by the dark.
Last light across the field, glory again revealed - day by day we wend our way toward gracious
What we see outside, within, unveiled across the hours, across the years - the opportunity to see it glow with grace in every beat of presence steadily appears
Where we are now, partially unformed, we're still beloved - this early space where things seem messy still reveals the lovely stuff we're made of, and shows the processes whereby we rise to meet what loves us, always welcome, always welcomed home.
Windows open, doors open, thought opens, and with it, possibility
There is no chasm between desire and its fulfillment, however much we've heard there is, there's no obstruction between Spirit and its action, between intelligence and its ideas
And therefore we will see the opening of all the pathways, we'll see them traveled, we'll see them thrive, we'll see the hoping rise overflowing as fondest visions emerge alive.
I stand beside, with, along, along - the verticality extends above, beneath, with no end I can see, an estimation of infinity
I touch the current, above, behind my shoulder, reach as for a subway strap, step back into it, and race up and down and up within the current
And now define myself as this, see that the story of small unlikely glints of glory, peaking through a mostly mindless structure, was never what defined me
No. This is where I understand everything about myself - size and shape and purpose, sphere of harmony, ribbon of peace.
Look - look at our world, and tell me, what's not possible?
Can it really be possible for us to wallow in casual cruelty? Unwittingly acquiesce to unmitigated horror? Is it possible we would allow ourselves to randomly give up our power to those who use it for the demise of all?
Look at the dawn, look at the field when the fog lifts, and the sun greets golden leaves of autumn trees. Look at our hearts, and recognize what's possible.
A tub full of failure considered in the evening hours is just a story about me, one I can kick off, climb out of, let down the drain
My creator does not demand reform of me, but only that I come to myself, only that I let Love's truth be what it's always been for me. I don't even need to let go - what I was clinging to dissolves like dream into the day.
Moments can come so clear - light over the hills, between the rain, sudden declaration of love's presence after the dream of dark times
So I see I have a choice, and why would I ever choose anything but love? Why would I scribble dark marks across the page of what I see, what I tally, what I hold in thought?
Sunlight dances out of the shadows, love slips in between complaint and offers softness. Light is what we see, and love is what we know. Within us all is power to make it so.
A peaceful evening, and strains of immortality, in song and image, gather round me
Much there is to reconsider - all the nets I used to try to weave, fall apart, unable to enclose the substance I am finding here
So I proceed in hushed stillness, keep letting fall my former definitions, endeavor to embody this new knowing that shows us infinite, at one, and free.
The love I had for you was so much bigger than the tiny locus through which the story said it had to come, so much bigger than our forms
It started teaching me, though I was slow to learn, to cast my sense of you and me much wider than the noose that claimed it must contain us, contain, constrain, with time and space, and all the things we knew we didn't understand
I look up now to contemplate how we might be to each other beyond the myth of human birth and death, beyond possession and responsibility, and hidden terror at the thought of failure
We would be loosed from those constricting ties, and wouldn't love each other any less - it wouldn't be proprietary, but knowing you, I'd still be blessed.
Nothing that you have to earn, this sense of home courses like a stream that you are one with - you feel the water and you are the water, and every bright imagining, each leap you take, your precious contribution to the river's song, what hums in you and what you sing out, continues ever timeless, ever new.
Wake up here with me in the place where you are loved, in the place where your belonging is rooted in the web of all that lives, all that loves, all that rises up with joy to be alive
This is your soil, your seedbed, this is where hope undergirds your every breath, this is where you wake up and find yourself fulfilling all your promise - everything you've always known you are.
