With the comforting new discovery that I live within a dragon’s bowl, and the repeating experience of generosity with a cycle of respiration, a plentitude satiates this wayfarer.
In touch with the universe that moves through a tear, a pulse. Is it possible to give this macrocosm language? The one I speak is made from sensitivity and curated through affection.
The savoring of preciousness or the greeting of holiness in her many dresses is a skill worth cultivating. Gentle prayers with intent, so as not to disturb a sun rising and the birds calling forth a day, nor the stars’ promises in the night sky.
Expansion. Contraction. Heart beats. Expansion. Contraction. Heart beats.
An allowance of just about anything can come rushing in at any moment. In that precise instant, or the moment thereafter, we may discover a bit of space. Droplets containing the fullest moon, can hurt and can heal.
Pursuit of discernment between desire and capacity. Discovering a nobility in the precision of listening to what is offered without even a whisper.
I became a mother. Amateur in the lessons of the creatress. Tending, tilling in the arts of nurturance. No one said it would be easy.
A barometer of another’s course through paralleling is a dead end, full of creative possibilities. Identification through resemblance is both excellent and futile.
Rise up when the molten depths call. Belly upon the dust when the soaring terrifies. And then hold your heart like the strong force that contains each atom, or the ligaments that hold bones, and the gravitational dynamism that keeps the sun on her throne.
Humanity offers an inherent charm. This wonder sustained through a resonance of more than one. I have known a golden largeness from the grin of another, a most special girl, a pilgrim.
Expansion. Contraction. Heart beats. Necessity to lay as directed, face and viscera to the cosmic floor to possibly integrate that brilliant loneliness. Still breathing, limbs like wings will soon reveal the kinship to the resting mystical matriarch.