Growing Home

Like reverb in a canyon I am hit from various angles with the deepest calling of my soul.

I hear mostly broken sentences, sometimes pages, of remebering.

Her voice is delicate at times and thunderous at others.

Most offen polarised to my egoic mood. Thank god.

She keeps me listening amongst all humm of conversation, above the music, beyond my sight, through to the distant rumble. of my remebrance.

There is a tangible shaking, just as the earth quakes. But no one notices. Alone in a dream.

I don’t mind if I seem dull or uninpressed. Truth is I am utterly immersed in what you don’t see while your speaking to me. Completely fulfilled at one level. in Truth.

Alone in a dream on the surface. still gravitating towards sensuality as the daughter in me opens her self one lotus petal at a time.

why is it that he still has such power over me? I watch the buzz of sexuality, our very basic human potential running the course of humanity. How to integrate our loaded cognitions of love with reality. (by reality I mean to point towards the oneness we cannot label as “reality”, which is to be clearly seen as an impermanent appearence with the slightest inquiry.)

resounding echos of a life grown for the liberation one soul. one soul. one. one .  one.    one. om.  om.  om.  om.

om.