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Are you looking for a quiet place? But friend, you are already here. The repose of your blood between pulsations. A secret chamber in your chest where you have no enemies, no one is to blame, and the endless journey has never begun. Here even prayers for peace need no speaking. You can disperse into the finer element you are before you breathe. You can be the sparkling sky in the lungs of a hummingbird, smoke of sage in desert air, aureole in emptiness where the flame just blew out. Here you can burn away because you remember your body is made of vanished stars. You can stumble and fall into your own rhythm, which feels like you are not moving at all because your mind is at rest in flesh that needs no discipline of stillness. You are a nest inside the egg, a mother's womb that carries her own savior, the seed of what you have always been seeking. Now flower on a Winter night. - Alfred K. LaMotte
We cannot live without the night, gossamer veils of emptiness. The Goddess is black, but each pore of her body emits a rainbow. Motionless, she watches beyond care, yet flows like a river of healing. Doesn't dark energy circle us all like Mother Raven? Take root in your grief. That is where the sun is born. Ascend through a bolder falling. Her womb is immaculate silence. Her void is moist with stars. Yet she who cradles them all has become your breath. Haven't I told you there is wine in the void between thoughts, Joy and sorrow mingled in one cup? Now taste, and who knows if tonight you might not finally embrace the fierce beauty of your beaten heart? - Alfred K. LaMotte
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