May it be like the writhing of snakes in its passion,and the meeting of doves breasts in its tenderness,stronger than the forest cedar, as flexible as the rope that hangs.Burning all the dark
Ashen faced; us, the dust floating aimlessly feeling unimportant and dull.We aim for something so much bigger.We collide and burn in fiery flashthe other motes, watch and applaud.We the shooting star; fleeting, bow
Once again hovering:over an ocean,not of water nowbut of children;lost and losingEach sigh of his:a hurricane,every tear:a monsooneach yell:an end to the ageAlas just turning another pagein this story of lossHe, seemingly losinghis
I felt it brush my face in the chill morning breeze,I heard it's whisper in the silent conversations,I saw it in every strangers blank desperate face,I walked in it down the road and
Expression. It’s such a key part of being human. It can be so life giving, cleansing and beautiful. I can get trapped in the desire for comfort that I stop challenging and asking
The search for truth. The hope of acceptance and love. These are pursuits, thoughts, feelings, mind states that I imagine we all experience and have and are. Sometimes there is a clear mingling