I need sometimes to just sit and write. to not worry about punctuation or grammar or spelling and just let flow the stream of consciousness I’ve been blessed with. I’ve noticed the bulk of my thoughts and feelings formed by my experience have gone from crowded to chaos. From opaque to obscure. And then forms shifted while I looked away. Chance and what was once a spirited concept of direction was the aimless accent of a spark from the flame burning out and falling back to earth. Crouching and straining to hear. The ceaseless progression of moments, the quickening of the perpetual Now. Both with and without space, both with and without time. It’s the with and the without, the day and the night, the darkness and light, the mark of the makers hand. Clinging close the the walls of the cave to make room for Him to pass. Afraid to look. It’s me. The one that came before and never ends the one that draws ink from this pen. the one that forms though and sends if heralding into the empty stillness. Don’t wrap your mind around me, I won’t fit, don’t try.
Wake with me on the riverbank while a new day dawns. A gently flowing river carrying your dreams away but on lost. Nestled in the knowing that gathers at your feet. It’s wood smoke and pines it’s the spirit that binds.
