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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
This poem is in honor of Ezra, my second son, who leaves home this week to make his own way in the world, to follow his heart...
Much more than even so, SO much more than even... this kid, his heart, my heart... Go my wild sweet...held, beheld... emerge with widened wings... Two years ago my first son, Silas, left home. You can check out the Kahlil Gibran poem here: www.guideforconscioushealing.com/wild-words-poetry-blog/lifes-longing-for-itself |
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