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Silently salient moments meander, motioning towards memory, recalling minutes, seconds lived longingly.
An open call on life itself, rafters dusted lightly by spirit's breath thrum with operatic passion as voices ring unto the heavens, lifting souls past yearning, past the duality of daily life, the joy and the pain combined, existing, second by second betwixt heaven and hell.
The still perfection of a winter's pond silent, ice blessing the sky, warm and wet, promising the water beneath a quick view of the heavens before hell freezes over yet again, in preparation for the inevitable coming of spring.
Barren brown twigs burst brightly, orange, yellow, green, photosynthetic promises of life deny the illusion of death, fulfilling the blessing of cyclic eternity, as above, so below.
Breath billows, moving air in visible currents outwards, shaping prana and bellowing kundalini as auric colors brighten in anticipation of the diurnal journey of brother sun and sister moon, the body's deep programming churning endlessly, its mechanisms, machinations, melancholy; depressed, opressed by the relentless approach of dotage, damning youth to obscurity, promising wisdom, laughing at misguided lives, lived in search of happiness that never existed as such, simply because beneath the surface, far below the icy froth capping the dark well of intentionality and karmic expectation, only probability exists, the endless fashioning of cause and effect, efervescing endlessly, forming unions with the unbound in anticipation of manifestation.
And we live quietly, ignorantly unaware that each moment is a chance to burst forth from our shells, to spontaneously combust as each cell within our bodies unites in perfect harmony in opposition to control, concern and concomitant commonalities that curse days of toil and obscurity with mundane existence, passing unremarked upon into the dustbin of small, meaningless moments that fill lotus-like leaves of the soul's incarnate word, spoken before creation become.
Simply magnificent, life is. Subtle, sublime, serene.
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I have decided to go to the eleven thirty mass, Mark - I just can't seem to be able to leave me seat. Lol.
God bless,
Sandie.
Reindeer
Love Tinka
Take care,
Sherry
Subtle, sublime, serene.
it is indeed..I only wish I would finally accept that as truth.
saved this one ..ty Mark!
Vesna:)
PS I truly needed to read this today..
The finale is explosive, bursting with energy! Very
motivating, this could make a sloth want to run;-)!
Eileen^
I feel infantile in your/my reality, which, I guess, could support a mathematical formula of life-sight I can almost see...
Strangely enough, Mark, the fifth verse I could not finish, at firstm it hurt too much. All else in substance was powerfully exant and hopeful.
Yours,
Erin
The alliteration in this flows with the beat of my shaman drum, causing my pulse to race and physical boundries to fade away...