Time, at first my prisoner
Has unveiled its mirage
Revealing this great mystery
Untouched by words and images
We call it now, this moment
Yet view it as small and fleeting
It is neither
It is as large as your wonderment
As grand as your perception
As permanent as your purity
It cannot be stored in memory
Nor approached with vanity
But it is always here
I have sought this moment with all my heart
The ancients wrote of this
The holy of holies
Where there is no veil
Where we stand amazed in the presence
Without definition
Without explanation
Without separation
A shining golden perfect moment
Where the song which floods my soul
Bursts like the creation of all that ever was
Or ever will be
So complete
That there is nothing else to be desired
And what you will see
When you cease imagining
And merge with one
Is beyond description
There are no multiple images
of little selves and little worlds
No image of beginning or end
Of creation
Or expanding universes
Not even an image of "one" exists
No images, only reality
Reality held in eternity
Where it, too, is a shining golden perfect moment
Oh, I will sing whatever song floods my soul
And not ask why
For now I know
I am more than I ever was before
I know I will be more again
The Word of Life
Why does it mean more
everything I think and say means more
when I think about you
or say it to you
and who are you
Every love letter I have ever written
was to a blank page
trying to convince the dear reader
that something was there
There was always some kind of "Return to Sender"
encoded in the program
It came back hollow in black and white
Like the lonely echo
of a silent tear
falling and melting into the stark white of blinding snow
never to be seen again
Now there is living techni-color
Rainbows and light and wind and song and sweet perfume
and dance
making me dizzy with emotion
alive with excitement
These words, these thoughts
so faltering at first
have now emerged from randomness
into a beautiful tapestry
woven by two hands
taking turns
carefully watching the last line
knowing instinctively where to pick up the next stitch
Why does it mean more
everything I think and say means more
when I think about you
or say it to you
and who are you
These are not just words
This is the word of life
of truth
of one
From the Heart
What matters is that you care
and you have found a way to express it
And you have expressed it beautifully!
As only you can
That's what matters
How many times do you have to be told that you are loved before you get it?
Just let yourself be loved
You don't have to live another day
without that wonderful feeling unless you choose to
And no amount of passion can equal being loved truly and deeply and eternally
It isn't about deserving it
It's about choosing it
If you choose it without fear or guilt,
or trying to peg the source,
or control the outcome,
or even define it
It does not come from above or from without or even from within
It comes only from saying I choose love
Not seeing it from a distance as something to reach for
Not seeing it as too late to have meaning
Not seeing it as something you conjure up in your needy mind
Love cannot be lost, found, grasped,
defined, defiled, bought, sold,
given, received, passed on, passed over
Love is the CHOSEN one
And so are you!
