a daylight dream

Home? Where is home? As long as those eyes are dully awake, busied, forgetful, it’s never home. As long as this body roads and intersects the times and spaces in limitless orchestration, as long as there is still one place more, one moment more— this isn’t home. Where am I? Where is the real I? Where am I when I’m not home? Oh God, it’s hard to feel at home here. I thought love would bring me a blissful peace. There’s a sacred stillness before sunrise when love is all that You are, all collapsing and deflecting form beyond form. When the light is here, all rises in chaos to be the perfect representation of You. Every atom toils. Every particle screams. Intention after intention, running out of breath just to sink down in never-ending gratitude. Nothing can ever rest till it meets You.  My heart is not enough for You. It turns with every beat— there must be a sacred place where Love is unchanged forever. I radiate with your Light but still it dies in me sometimes— how sweetly foreor...

  this season, my heart simply beckons and surrenders being followed. At times, ease flows effortlessly, reminded by love. Other times, fear steps in and rips off faith so harshly off my chest, leaving whirling black holes of darkness suffocating the gratitude I have learned to associate with every breath. this season is essentially so painfully beautiful— the duality of a world of reason, and a world of grateful love. it is a miraculous shift in perception to gaze at diabolical mishaps in this world, its painful dissolution towards chaotic unknowns, and to still deem it as a gift. a beautiful, unconditional  gift . the more I see the children around me immersed in the pain of unknowing, diseased mindsets and too much noise, the more I’m drowned by how helpless I am in the midst of all this. every year, it is harder to maintain the gratitude with the immense number of challenges pouring in, begging me to unlearn everything I’ve known and to start anew.  but it is gratitud...

  When it’s December and sunrise takes its time, the before of waking means so much. The aloneness of stillness, in my room, in the gentle radiating waves of night light doing the best it could do to seep these words out of my heart. I see myself more clearly now. I see the aching heartbeats that intensify when they’re loaded with deflected intentions manoeuvred by an ever-changing world. I skim through my day and a longing dazzles me— a longing to meet the truthful me in every moment of the day. This softened soul speaks ever so gently, still it is a scintillating light which shivers whenever there is a looming darkness. Before sunrise, it is the perfect time. I can see how it shivers swiftly, and my whole body shakes in tears, in confusion, in how much I long for the clarity of my love. I meant it, my dear one. I meant it when it is the dream that ignites every part of me to use this world in worship. It’s the dream to meet Him, and you, and a mirror of love in the hereafter. Wit...

you made out of this garden  a mirror-image of heaven gazing at your face every reason fading between us here it is, a soulful peace then there are the tears that would never leave  the mornings when the sun of forgiving was seen I saw dying when we went fruit-picking where we dropped all our worldly clinging the mist falls on me now I’m in a river where love sounds  do you cry, too, sometimes when a fractal of my presence lies next to you while all clinging dies

  It might sound harsh, but there is much clarity in being away from it all. The more one mingles and dissolves the rays of heartfulness against the mixed signals of untrusted intentions, the senses get clouded by all the diffracting temporariness in it all. My heart, I can see, has become ailed. The dent which is always ready and susceptible to being questioned by the ego is filled with fogginess and ashy remains. I cannot see my truth. A moment with God has become quite painful from all the things I need to ask for forgiveness for: a word heard and said, an intention misguided, a sudden desire to excel, compete and better. All is sickening my soul and pinning me down to the muddiness of it all. It is why, dear heart, you love this aloneness. You love to be in that empty hall, in wordless commune with the soul. I’ve been wrong to lead you to this crowdedness, this sophistication, this impure stance. I’m sorry. I ask for forgiveness in grave heaviness. I see why you’re afraid. One ...

What has kept me ill at heart these days is the ordeal in having to find a place in terms of a clear-cut, well-intended purpose. The lines have blurred and clarity is at times forsaken and sacrificed for the stedfast momentum in which things get to be carried in time towards their completion.  I’m a little torn, and I don’t know what to do. Deep in my heart resides this desperate need to bask in the glory of original creation, tending to the heartfulness of all matter. Midst these children everyday, I often get carried away in the monotonous doing of academic work, which is too dry. I notice how fast a child’s heart holds tight to the distractions of this world when its heart is not captivated, when it’s not magnetised by a beautiful experience to look forward to. I’m not here for this dryness. It hurts so much to succeed in that— it’s been a blessing to fail in that perspective, as I’ve been failing for sometime. I’ve been judging myself for not being able to work on this kind of ...

the light on my face feels dim and subtle. my eyes want to hide, recoil in November’s solemn skies, while all listens to life in stillness, receiving death, receiving the brokenness of slowly fading into nothingness. it is the first autumn to truly fathom what death truly    is deep in soulful lights. to receive the glory of non-doing, of resting, of nothingness— the  gift  in this, the brokenness, the poverty, the ample need. in time, spring. but now, it is this unknowing death. this forgetfulness. this humble fading soulfulness. it is okay. it is receiving.  still, all I see is You, and all I see here is my heart melting into yours, not knowing where to go. here I learn  being , as it is, as it always was.

  Upon hearing these words from you, a knowing settled in my bones and configured my heart to have faith that you’ve felt it too— a love in wordless silence. A prayer in sacred presence. Perhaps the last time you saw me and shattered under the weight of this divine love, it melted your skin away. And you know death, my dear. The death of time and space as you cross the gateways of divine love. We leave it all here. We’ll see what it’s like— when my eyes take the shape of yours. When we melt into one another into an eternal embrace— wordless, silent, cosmic. In some far off place, an explosion, a divine spark entrancing an entire collective into its beginning. We’ll see what it’s like— to become one. I don’t know what else comes after. At this point, there is no need to leave now . I’ll never feel at home here. But your eyes, a mirror. Your hands, a portal. I see duality in place. I can choose Him and all else— it’s all the same through Love.  Would you endure the silent deep o...

How elusive it is to get lost in between the dual worlds— truth and its shadow. When one truly embodies the sweetness of intentions of doing, remembers it awhile, impalpably forgotten midst the enchanting rays of daylight. I love gazing at my shadow in remembrance. Sometimes it is those shadows that cloud the wholeness of this world, of this existence, of this love. Oh, it not I. It was never— would I remember this more than not, dear heart?  Too, I adore the sweetness of sunshine in my eyes. Yet, it is sweeter in the reclusive dark. When the world fades, the source shines in a shimmer divine. The boundaries melt, nothingness a love longing to be felt.  Gratitude encompasses a droplet of truth— forget yourself. Become carried in ease.

Sometimes I forget and get lost in the maze leading me up to endless skies. In between the doing, surrender is sweet, it is overwhelmingly relentless, often addictive, that one feels that something is wrong if a peek to the ground is forsaken. In those days, I forget what I’m here for. I forget the purpose of the strife. It all becomes quite confusing to understand— how did I get here? How was all this enabled into happening so swiftly? It’s where I’m at. I look at the long list of commitments surrender has carried me towards so gently. I am even sure that they could be kissed into existence with ease, but with humanness, I often panic at the brink of each evening wondering how it could happen. I then feel really afraid. I want to escape. I wonder, too, dear one, how I got myself surrendering my fears of togetherness. The shame that runs down the vines of my lifeline, all the fragile notions to be undone, all the big stones to be lifted in ease. Now that I look in hindsight, that was a...