Coming to this late - how not? and yet in perfect time.
Underneath that tree, the one which last year shed spent petals
and the century preceding, was a dream,
I bit into an apple
and offered it to my friend.
Who could know how it might end,
or should,
or when?
Rising to this early, with dawn sky for breakfast,
and no remaining apple guilt, I lied
a glorious illusion,
a co-created painting of molecules and light,
with the flight of birds across its amazing colored clouds
and heartbreak visions of mountains, hills, of plains and sea -
Oh, how I lied the wisdom for to breed,
and of it, Truth reborn.
Sitting with this story, of human mind godescent,
waiting in the paragraphs and stanzas
and in the illustrations,
I choose:
today I surrender,
I become a vehicle for the scenery of Home.
Today Love recreates itself,
using me and all of us for seeing
itSelf
in the mirror of our eyes.
Today.
Today I use my will
to choose.
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Comments: 13
"Today Love recreates itself,
using me and all of us for seeing
itSelf
in the mirror of our eyes."
It's as if each of those story elements is an organ of perception, and is always guiding and teaching us. I feel the same about all the basic stories of all spiritual paths. Their life gives us life.