She is the Mother in search of a Father, at least a figure of the man she believes she needs, and she does, does Love.

I need know the pang of my own vacant fatherhood. In order to serve, I ingest and cleanse sickness and fear, in search of self, coming up empty, still combing the debris and on to the next dis-ease until we are the cure and not some vacant thing waiting for a savior instead of being one.

She manifests the echo of creation come through the balance between God and Love.

I now believe. I scribe the story with a balanced curiosity, with many hands and many souls.

She waits, I groove.
I wait, She grooves.
You wait, We groove.

We do.

© 2015 Mark Richard Prime


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