a daylight dream

  It darkens now, the sun rests early into the spherical horizons, a halo above the nighttime prolonged, revered. An intention is pinned by the precipices of my heart—  the truest sun is love.  As October rolls by with the grandest lessons on lightness and ease, eyes are closed. The heart  knows . How this soul has learned to pay attention to its vehicle, how it has chosen to see close, see deep, see the truth surfacing clear.  It’s November soon, and now love knows it can choose this soul as its instrument. It has readied itself with death after death. There are many more, for sure, there are many cycles of forgiveness and shame to experience before it’s truly time. Yet now, love knows it can live with courage. It can endeavour through the fearlessness of being chosen over and over again. It can climb its climb and shine— a sun, a star, in the infinite galaxies of isness. A star knows its lonesomeness is a silence only for the ones who know what it’s worth. The mountainsides are eased

Near them, dear. Near where we planted our first intentions of a family. The brokenness that unfolds in their presence. The surrender in limitation to truly experience a limitless mercy, one of God’s, a  gift . I haven’t been there for some time. I know why. Their truest essence pins me down in a sacred longing and makes me yearn for what has been written from the very first day I saw your eyes, love. Oh, the mirth, the smiles. I sigh. The memory, how ancient it is. Its brokenness. The streams of forgiveness we are reminded by. The first time we were blessed by its subtle touch.  I believe we need to be reminded by their nearness in the start. To become enveloped by their grace. All what we knew and ever will— the  gift . Let us receive the gift, dear one. And if you don’t believe me, just come here one more time. You’ll listen  why .

what breaks me, in gratitude and in deep shame, is the humanness of doing. to be out there, to be identified with the translation of divine will and the forgetfulness of truth. that it’s not me. it’s not what it seems.   and I’m made of stardust, crystalline metals and water, electric and solar. and to be a floating translation, always a few feet above the ground is the kind of living that soothes my soul. always in the in-between, the cloud-high airplane, a few moments in the landing and not more. a few moments more, and I’m broken by the weight of gravity. the gravity of forgetfulness and the pressure of variables shifting in space. time slows down.  this is not me. in the truthful return to silence, I meet the stars again. I meet the visions and the ideals. I meet God’s words foreordained and here is surrender. here is the heartful rest. being with love.  being with Him.