This praying for love is not separate.
Love does not pick me out from the crowd
and raise me up, but allow
me to grow, beautifully
her very own forest
alive in the growing of her holy abode.
Some words like Holy seem redundant
when speaking about light below the earth
gifted and re-given again
now totally whole to the person who gives
in peace to the One.
To make an offering is one special piece.
I’m going to Israel. The same as belief.
I’m going to Israel.
This is the same laughter that works through The Buddha but not as his face.
You were my father, an excited sequiter-
She raises me up. She told me I’d know where and when she had come.
It’s made as it needs to-
I’m home here already-
and there are still
feet to walk in this way
in my heart there are legs
in my arms there are
Just when I feel here
I’m “will I lose it?”
“what happened to you?”
says the angel who loves me.
Because I lived in my knowing.
And why would I want to hold on to something? To hold on to nothing?
Now is enough. Is it not? Isn’t it?
And, yes, from enough we can make a lot more.
You are so endless. You can heal a whole world.
And my eyes turn to light.
And I watch the stars inside my head.
I told him the place that I live in when entering his touch.
He tried- There’s no need to understand
by distance- there’s no such thing as a distant land.
-The Other Day by Emily Stern