a daylight dream

  my dearest, I keep wondering what it’s like to co-exist so subtly. with all my flaws in plain view, I recoil in shame not really sure whether I’ll muster the courage to live in the grace of love. I remember one of my very first conversations with you. there was a rekindling of unconditionality towards one another, a forgiveness of all our flaws, a premonition that to live in conversation with their presence was to be the most beautiful gift imparted by this destiny. still, I lived with my doubt. I’m not perfect, and I’m deeply flawed. it’s a ghost I’m acquainted by all day— the lingering lulling hum of all what scars me away from perfection. years later, today, this doubt still haunts me, swelling with the wintery sun. I keep wondering what it’s like to bear the imperfections of another. it keeps occurring to me since it is my most arduous climb— to accept my own flaws and embrace them in overwhelming acceptance. i often find it disappointing that I keep failing no matter how hard I

  watching it unfold, here and now, is an entirely different scheme. the layerings of moments usually don’t happen in dreams, but they are ever so prominently reassuring here. my eyes are focused on the beautiful landscapes we’ve crossed in this togetherness, eyeing the mountains and climbs of fearsome destinies. it was nothing but beautiful. here we are, on a mountain that is perhaps more firmly undivided this time. rockier, sturdier— a foraker. I’ve seen it all before: this bewilderment in just going for it anyway, wondering if it was ever right to be so unduly faithful and relentless from the start. yet, I know from this day forward, all is growth. all is what we were destined for— all the toilsome missions and sleepless nights spent in the crafting of this path, they are all a stand with surrendered doing. have we not understood the essence of it, all this time? and we are kept in remembrance through the forgiveness that has laced our hearts in divine grace. I stand with you, on th

  I’m awake, and it’s our first spring. A winter of doubt enlaced in dim branches against the crystalline sky. I’m awake, and I haven’t slept most of the night— it’s real.. it’s  time . How do I calm my beating heart? How do I calm the blazing sunrise in my eyes? The emeralds sprouting from my chest are humming their beloved melody—  love . Oh, love.. the foreordained at last. I sink in my chair, those fingers delicately weaving the fantasies of our younger days— the poetic heartbeats syncopated with a universal truth. I’ve been an instrument in the chambers of your heart, my dearest one— I sing. Those angel wings are set free. I rise to the skies with the crimson old January clouds and I see the softest eyes you’ve ever had. The laughter in our voices sprout springtime blossoms that scent the worlds in between. All the time— now a memory. Carried, melting into the togetherness this sunrise holds for us. Anew, our light flickers. We see what it’s like now. Oh my future, I— Can’t believ

  it is clearer now, the truest death of self is at the brink of aliveness, and the truest aliveness is at the zenith of death. here is to the dissolution of my fears, their annihilation, and the mountain I thought was toilsome to climb has tumbled in God’s name. I am melting into the truth that I had to kill all my will for. how much pain this body endured— the pain of nothingness, brokenness and emptiness. the pain of not wanting to have much to live for, the heart emptied of love and filled with an otherworldly kind of existence that cannot co-exist with a moment’s worth of this lifetime. I understand now, dear God. I understand now that when gratitude and aliveness fills every particle of my body— when my heart inflates to serve this world, to be with it, to co-exist in harmony, in value, in love, that’s my death of self. that’s the death of our peach tree in the midst of its ripening. Between the universes You created for us, I roam, landing on the mountain on which I find the mos

my dearest, I do remember how it was like five years ago, that sweet January when I stumbled upon the first emerald shootings of mulberry leaves. how divine it was to talk to you, recording endless words of sheer love and genuine awe at how beauty unravels in surprises. there we were, listening, with smiles extending all the way to our hearts.  was I falling in love with you? this was on its own the truest miracle of spring. breathing on with a gentle sunrise in my eyes, this connection growing to something of its own, a jewelled beauty akin to a morning moon floating in the clear skies. with january’s days coming to an end, I remember how far we’ve come. I remember it all to begin our path righteously. all I have is my prayers today. all I have is faith that in some gift-like unravelling, the ripples of our waters shall roll into each other. teary-eyed, I end this with a liberating intention to walk this path with you, my love. I’ll never be enough. I’ll never truly know what to do to

 It ’s the first time that, as an educator, am conflicted by very detrimental views. Danger was looming in for years now— technology, AI and virtual realities equated by the low attention spans, multi-dimensional cravings for intense realities and a differential human expression to say the least. I’ve never felt it so close before, but it’s here, and I’m touching it with my own hands. The last few weeks have been a little deranging. I was trying to arrive at a conclusion— should I elegantly ride the wave of technological expansion or resist, staying loyal to this beautiful mirror of God’s humbling creativity— this glorious Earth. I tried to resist for sometime, and it has caused me so much stress to keep fighting, rooting my determination to stick to the truth. This resistance shook my love to my profession and the children I’m serving. I found myself dragging myself to plan my week’s learning experiences, feeling dread over the uncertainty. It’s the nature of our times, it seems, this

every winter holiday is quite healing. there is so much beauty in the surrendered slowing down of time, the stretched out possibilities finally being taken care of and harnessed. this time, I arrived at the holiday feeling a little burned out from the tumultuous cycles of stimulation I have at work. I needed a lot of time to simply wind down, enjoy the sunshine and let go of all agendas. of course, it’s terribly hard for me not to have an agenda. this little parasitic pattern of me keeps showing up wanting to control even the tiny parts of the day which I should not control. I have been there before, and for this pattern to erupt with all the stillness made it a little stressful to observe. one afternoon, I was working on a little drawing, and it’s when I noticed how this voice was judging every single pen stroke. when I’m writing or doing anything else that is creative, birthed from original design, I never feel that way. I’m quite used to processes that have steps I can tinker with i

  I always forget that when the mind is empty, it’s for a beautiful reason. When the mind is shifting in fearsome unknowns and when there’s no ray of light to pierce through the fogginess, it’s best to wait for the right time, it’s compassionate to stay in trust until it’s there— for it always comes. These past few weeks, I’ve again witnessed parts of myself that are ruled my ego. This side of me that restlessly pushes to the extremes when it’s lost and doesn’t know what to do, when there’s no productivity to be proud of and take pleasure in. I’ve seen my obsessions in new light and I come in forgiveness and repentance each time— I’m sorry. I’m sorry for pushing through the idleness with so much harshness. I’m sorry for not trusting inspiration well enough and not believing in this feeble intuitive knowing that it will make sense in time. Repeatedly, I apologise for not taking heart in the time it takes for emergence of patterns and beauty. How much time will it take for me to truly fe

It's been such a soft-spoken, gentle year in which the first letters of love were learned and engrained in my heart. There are some moments here that I shall write down that were embedded in my most sacred dreams, and I am filled with sweet gratitude recounting them. I have changed so much. I'm sometimes not sure about who I've become, but I am nevertheless open to the transition toward more gentle womanhood, a kind of becoming I was always longing to witness. So much of the harshness has melted away in a series of soul-shattering experiences that have made me shed tears of limitless understanding for the nature of this world, and it is ultimately love. January   A trip to Portsaid, collecting shells and taking in the sea-breeze. Exploring unschooling, unlearning my pedagogy and being open to new ways of learning that exist. Opening my heart through some open wounds. Spring’s vibrant signs: dandelions and expanding time. Reading Mary Oliver’s work and feeling inspiration su