(Love is the Best Way via Concentric Clothing) Many lifetimes ago you and I held hands. I let go first that I might come around again. Creation’s been waiting a long time for Love; Hope now holding for hope, lips pursed upon joy, Each affection kissing creation’s lovely neck, Loving smiles upon your waiting self. Let me enter your kingdom, your arms of Love, Every lifetime, not just the one we know…
I am humbled by your grace, your undying smile
Leaving me breathless with an undeserved joy. Of destiny, of Love, of joy, with an exactness Vibrating noiselessly without end or question, Even as you yearned for my return to Love.
You proved yourself a healer with your remedy Of acceptance permeating without deliberation Until I journeyed back to you, howling of belief.
(Moon Night Sky from Layout Sparks.com)
If I still have my Love I’ll not have wasted my belief after wars have broken through the stars like thieves. I’ll not have wasted my belief on words, I’ll have found love through my willing hands.
That’s what I started by propping up my storm in the midst of Love which gives without asking for anything in return, that which delivers my thoughts and dreams without restraint, my pleas without want, without instruction, without the harness of murder, rape and god-fouled war.
Through my hands, through my heart, through Love, I must still believe enough to wrestle deceit to its knees and embrace the Spirit of Love that’s within arms reach.
Oh! Reach out! They are there! Reach out! Let them nestle their imperceptible wings into your spleen, cuddle up inside of the fearful belly and dream.
Nature’s night voices enter to remind me, belief cannot cleave itself from the consideration of all life.
O! My shameful use of pride has at last brought me to the answer I’ve been seeking as the night voices pipe in with their symphony of affirmation, arrogance has no place inside belief, for faith should only be driven by Love. An emergent faith should desire to hold its tongue until the canvas and paint are prepared with steady hands, an open mind, the brush immersed in Love.
I ask the night voices to help me remember Grandmother’s lessons, I know nothing, including who I am. Again, I know nothing, including who I am. I know nothing, including who I am...
A hard lesson to be sure is the lesson of an insignificant self. Belief cannot sing, not while the canvas of Love is painted upon with a foul arrogance.
(Gul's Way - Where there is Love)
My reasons for not calling on you to speak in place of my waterless tongue are excuses that have never flown. (Forgive me for poisoning your air.) How could I have ever expected excuses to offer any useful silhouette with their idle legs and wingless backs? (Forgive me for destroying your forests.) Indifference is so much heavier with its shrugging load oppressing even the strongest of voices.
I want you to know that it is only my lessons now that have a chance to lift themselves above the cackling redness found in Love's absence. (Forgive me for infecting your water.) I am sorry, I forgot you were waiting. (Forgive me for bombing your children.) I was too busy sleeping to notice. Might you forgive me for not seeing that my back had space enough for a pair of wings?