I’ve never felt so vulnerable in my life.
IALH
HAIL
LHAI
ILHA
PRITHUM
MPRITHU
UMPRITH
HUMPRIT
THUMPRI
ITHUMPR
RITHUMP
KUNDALINI
IKUNDALIN
NIKUNDALI
INIKUNDAL
LINIKUNDA
ALINIKUND
DALINIKUN
NDALINIKU
UNDALINIK
Thank you, Shakti.
S A R A B
B S A R A
A B S A R
R A B S A
A R A B S
I A L H
H I A L
L H I A
A L H I
A D I
I A D
D I A
I love my strengths and my weaknesses.
Live up to it already: the word means will;
the world means do the word.—Sol
ar’
Ays begat water, here.
Here is the water: the water means love!
Yellow-dead foliage litters winter. notes
From GOD left in the bitter notes
From GOD: home elapsed into the temple.
Old PAPER in the snow; Can I transcribe?
Old PAPER in the home; Could I recollect?
Can we still be NOW?—Where?
Thither I flow through
sepia stones.
An’on.
An’on.
And yes.
Dispersal of Praise To Thee To Thee!
Two drops of pleasure into dawn-sigh open eyes—yes.
Black drops into the eyes reflect our amazing—
warm-soft, smooth comfort-expression—
understanding that love only is, was and shall be—YES.
In two drops, quicksilver, the world bursts alive.
Light streaming river splashes around our feet—
Four drops of gold—
Yes!
Thank you so much! You have a beautiful page. Do you as no one else ever could.
Light, life, love and liberty
through and through endless epiphany
on and on soar synchronicity
testament to timeless serendipity
Return, return, return…
Epiphany like this
like the word Aoi
Blue sky
Green grass
or growing turnips
Don’t pluck me yet,
I’m only just beginning to
form oh light over me
washing out the past
pulling in home, home home.
Epiphany like bluegrass
music to the ashen
moth
rediscovering the flame
Home
The butter-melting love laps lilac/
lily lemon-rosy hips. Never, ever-
ever, festers like an ashen wart,
no.
In our hearts, Now, only:
lone, untied writhing;
yellow-yearning rebirth;
dashing chains under all-rusting
earth; shaking hearth stones again free;
brushing away dust; unfurling those
newly-old tapestries; and soul mapping
magic memories in a darkened, not-so-distant
past.
These cast-iron anvils go into the furnace.
These leaden balloons, into the sea.
We can let in the jagged stones,
heavy with cement we’ve mutually
paved about our feet. In this colder-dark,
around and below us, we could just sink so
deeply in.
And how I solely love to sink
and you.
All the grains
fell
though my fingers. I
watched so
slowly as they
fell. I cried so
slowly that I just couldn’t hurt; the
falling seed
grew so
slowly that it just couldn’t
sprout. I fell
so slowly
through your fingers;
I can’t just watch you cry.
