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You don’t walk away from this sight. You stand, and you gaze into its liquid eyes, and you thank your lucky stars to be a part of this world that has such beauty in it. Such simplicity. And you do this every single day. Again, and again, and again..

 

Truth.

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The flower knows it’s truth; To bloom,
with neither worry, nor care, for the size,
or the shape, or the colour¬†of it’s petals.
The flower knows it’s truth; To thrust open
it’s lips and drink in the wind and the water.
To love the sun, fiercely, all day, and to lie
with the moon, cradled sweetly through the night.
The flower knows it’s truth; To receive and
to live. Fully. Completely. Simply. To bloom,
and to wither, gently, into that which gave it life.
How sweet, how simple, how profound. To bloom into
your knowing and blossom in it’s care.

To be that flower!

Alas, I must seek my truth. What is my truth?
What is yours?

Wings

“Come”, said the Maker, “I will give you wings”.

“What will I do with the wings?”, said the butterfly.

“Why, love all the flowers in the field of course”, said the Maker.

 

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all this and nothing.

i am darkness and death
light and breath
i am the bark as i lean into it’s roughness
and the earth that i grip between my toes
i am the stars and the night that holds them
like so many lovers
i am the sky and the wind that presses into my body
with it’s many sighs..
i am the soft open fields and the hardness of the mountains
i am time that walks through tunnels and timelessness
that floats on warm summer days between the wings of fireflies
i am hunger and the fruit
i am the solace and the pain
i am the ocean and the drowning
i am all this…
and i am nothing…

Rain…

…rain, and my happy, thirsty feet…

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I love the wildness of rain.

How everything turns dark and moody. The bark and the leaves. Everything deepens. Becomes bolder, truer.

It’s not a sullen moodiness. though. Rather, I imagine everything turning inward.

To that quiet space of nourishment, and contemplation,

where we all must go in order to grow.

Weightless.

A plane flew by overhead.
I wondered if they could see me, us,
floating on the water,
weightless under the sun;
if they could imagine the soft hush
of my breath
as it filled my body
with life.
Again, and again, and again…