a daylight dream

disappear as much as you’d like—  from my gaze to your wandering eyes.. I find that no matter how much these words of love are silenced, and no matter how long our eyes are closed by the shutters of distance— we find home. ever so effortlessly, we tiptoe back in, open doors, wide windows and adoring skies. and home begs to be more than a metaphor. and it chose me. once it has received its one loving dweller, how can its light dim? it chose me, despite feeling so far away from home. so far from hearing those footsteps settling in. this heart foresees a garden, but has forgotten how to seed. how to thread pieces of embroidery. how to simmer fragments of sweet memories. and my lilting melodies unmoored, I move forward to my healing climb. at least till this heart learns to choose this body and call it what always longed to be called— home. a haven. a temple. a paradise. an avid listener of poetic, romantic rhymes. an ode of blessings running through its sky. my home is gratitude. deep...

when your heart smiles, where does home take you? in that eye-to-eye stillness, hands held intimately, a stream of forgiveness. a budding leaf springs anew, meeting the sun. meeting the vastness of isness. the connectedness of the timeless  be—  and falling in love. when you remember dying and all returns to an intention lived from within. your cloud hums like a fresh drizzle of rain on thirsty fields. how I dream of this garden of love.. the vastness of what grows when we break apart. the gaze lighting up a million forsaken sparks. the wholeness of being seen, not for our fragmented parts.. and the glimpse of remembering that it’s His adoring love the fields between our hearts. melting into the truth of it, wide eyed, breaths deeply eased.. how so vast..

your brightest star needs this callous sky, this eluding climb high and universes in between. your brightest star needs the connectedness blooming from being a part of everything, the momentary nourishing stream of surrendered being.  the intimate detail. the infinite touch. an otherworldly embrace with the light in all aliveness abound. your brightest star asks you to feel it. to feel it slow, to dig the hollow vessel in which through all can flow.  your brightest star asks you to revere pain and love alike. one cannot transmute toward the other without you being there, a loving conduit of truth. your brightest star asks you to  be — do not fear yourself. do not fear your truth. trust that feeling it wholly is  right .  your brightest star asks you to be one.. and not fear.

  interbeing . I keep falling in love with this word, this notion, deeply diving into it, till I become it. is there a separate self that exists outside of what becomes? could we even force ourselves into life without being what we are forcing?  I feel at times that I forget this. sometimes I go back home lost for what to do the next day, forcing ideas in my head to make them happen. I don’t notice that each time I go with force and fear, I become them myself. I notice the rigid pain in my gut, a recurring pain enclosed in a thick shell of impermeability. a swollen vessel hardened with rust. I, too, have become it, somehow. I’ve ignored it for too long until it has metastasised to a pain my body cannot bear without suffering.  you’re so afraid, sometimes. you’re afraid of failing. you’re afraid you’re not giving it your all. you’re afraid of all the expectations you have for yourself— the ever-fluid creativity, the poetry at your fingertips that you’ve somehow lost and al...