I had this page open for days....days.
filling the page with blankness.
where to go, what to write, what to see....
Being an observer lately hasn't propelled the words forward.
only silence is obliged to take the stage.
transpiring in awe at the audience.
without words. without anything but its own breath.
and in this place it thrives happily to do just that.
just be.
Chapter 26 in book.
0 plans
we are waiting
waiting
letting the muck from the last wave settle
oh, how clear the water will be then...
the things uncovered and the clearness of what's before you.
(what is to be for you...)
crystal and serene
the clarity of the next move
this is what we are waiting for.
work orders tomorrow
glad more have been sent my way
balancing between being still and silent and taking bold action
waiting... for the time is near, but not yet
breathe...
let the roots form...
stay...
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had a dream... last night
and my very good friend was there
... and the absence is felt in these waking hours...
it is, but it is not. not, but is...
what ground do we stand on if parts of you are across the veil.
where is your heart, afterall...
scattered across galaxies and handed out to strangers
halfway between what's inside you and what's outside you
knowing it's all you in the end
but not you.
you are what you love, not what loves you
...when you walk with the Christ through the garden and wake to be stripped of such presence...
and you can't understand why... and this child cries in the darkness, in the silence, because no one knows but those who were present. And everything is set against that moment...and everything must fall short of it.. and it does. And you carry it like a momento, but you can't display it, you can't tell it's story, you can't relive it, and you can't bare anything but the highest of all and the lowest of all... and stand in the twilight between them both.... and only we stand here. I.
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Let me tell you a story...
... where the wild things grow.
where they take root and flourish
they feed off the energies that you placed there
the time, the effort, the sweat, the love, the pieces of you that you left behind.
the wildness...it grabs hold and certainly holds tight.
it too loves what you have built, what you have provided.
and we try... we try to keep the wildness at bay...
we try to tame it.
we try to hide it, cut it away, trim it, suffocate it, rip it out, dig it up....kill it
---
"Oh but child... this wildness is you.
your boxes and your walls... your efforts and sweat and attempts to train it...
that thing you call discipline...
let me tell you how discipline works...
you follow orders, and you do as your told... and you stay within the walls that were built...
you play along and obey.... disciple of mine...
but behold...
chaos....
look at this glorious thriving life I've built for you...
Discipline...Disciple.... oh no dear one...
You are the Master now.
Grow wild, wherever and however you choose.
I did not tame you, or train you, or contain you.
I've created you to live fully and abundantly."
---
And these things ripple through your spirit...
when your life is a reflection of what you've built.
and you can try to behave and belong and look like you are with them...
but.... when you still feed the wild creatures...
they will come to eat, and make their homes, and flourish.
And you will be a haven for the lions and the lambs alike.
You will be home.
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fuck yes to all of that.
all of this.
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