what it’s meant to be.

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what are we waiting for but the learning of surrender, the intimacy of truth, its passion erasing, melting, soothing all that was into a becoming so soft.

my love, listen to this heart..


it speaks of stories untold. the way each word spoken becomes an airplane ride and never a station. 


climb, climb, climb— to words softer than the gentlest piano chimes. the faded winter sunrise. your fingers in mine.


readied for a light beyond this, does an intention to surrender your heart still whisper to you, sometimes?


breathing into unknowingness till we forget to call for time. we’ll hear its sweetest melody. we’re enveloped in grace of receivership until then.


"الجنة و هي كون من الأكوان، لن يدخلها أحد بعمله..

فكيف بحضرة المحبوب؟

لن تدخلها بعمل أبداً..

إنما هي وهب.

لا كسب فيها، و لا تكسب، و لا اكتساب."

going with grace in an inscrutable world.

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