There is but one way. We walk in the direction of truth that the soul aligns with the highest vibration. Even when we forget are we called to turn again in the direction of remembering. All things are present before us. All doors open to the voice of yes. Fear has a place, yet does not lead the way of the feet walking in the direction of having been called. It may tug, but we do not stop to inquire. We keep steady our eyes on truth, our words matching that of the Divine. There is no other way than to be in the light of the All, to inhale the breath of God that we might breathe more freely inside vast space and time. Know this, because it is to be known. Let all else fade like clouds before seen that now shift into the energy of the no more. Wake up. The hour is upon us. The time is now.
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It opens wide, the door. We enter that we might come to know the direction of our going. We go there freely. Life leads us; a tug-pull inside the arms of flow. There is nothing to long for outside the knowing of life. We miss nothing because nothing is missing in vast space. This is what we know. This is what we carry with us when we go there in the direction of |I|ts voice. What of our hearing sees, and what of our sight leads us there where separation fills the gap and connects again all things to the One?
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Life. Wake me from my deepest sleep inside the life vibration. I turn toward you always there inside the vibration of all things to awaken me from sleep so deep I leap finding my way. Open. How open my soul to the way of you! You take me by the hand and lead me there beside still waters. You hold me. I have been touched deeply by the way of you. You are my light. Fill me. Breathe on me always that I might come to know breath. My light. My salvation. You are the way of the path and I walk always the way to you. Felt. I feel you deeply, touching always the tips of my fingers in search of you. I search always for you even when the sight of me leaves. Blind. I am blinded by the light never. Darkness finds me only to wake inside the breath of your being. Braille. Trace the ways of me that I might leave the path paved for another soul seeking the way to you. I follow your scent. I am led to you always.
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I go there within where the turning is to be. Nothing exists outside of the one who sits in the quiet and listens to the voice of Life. How clearly it speaks, like an echo of sound to be felt deeply on the inside. Sit there. Sit longer still that you might hear the way of the path and walk. That is the beginning. It is also the ending; life a cycle of rises and falls where the one walking leads then follows, is lead and allows another to follow its lead. All things connected at the root of all things. This is the source, yet many have fallen away, have sought ladders to climb in search of meditation. It is not there on the outside. It is not to be found in the pages of books. We look within and we see. We turn toward the open door of the heart and listen to the soul speak. This is the way of the path. This is the path of the way.
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I think about it again and again, and it brings me back to this place of my own breathing.
Everything remains within. It is there on the inside that we find the secrets we’ve sought, while holding the key in hand.
We blink long and forget our way. It is in the space over there in that ditch off to the side of the road that we come to remember.
It is real. We are real inside the layers of all things that are different from what we experience now. This is the way of life as an illusion. This is the way of life pointing us always in the direction of inquiry.
Let us ask.
It is there inside the very question that we reveal the truth of the way. It is a maze at times, one like a labyrinth haunting the steps of our journey. We circle back time and time again only to be met with the sudden nature of stopping. Does life lead us there to the stop in times when the journey off path has run its course?
To be redirected is a gift. It speaks to the one who listens and allows, the one who welcomes truth and follows the scent of its going.
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What is it like to come from a family of love? To be close, connected in the way that ants travel together, single file going in one direction. I’ve been a loner from start, perhaps to finish; wasn’t raised to hold dear the intimacy of family. What does that look like? I read the words of Cisneros and I imagine a family intertwined for better or worse. I would take either if it meant I could experience the authentic closeness of parents who chose to bridge gaps not create them. I walked a childhood skipping over ditches that I not fall in and succumb to the opening in the bag’s bottom.
It is said that no one is an island. True. Yet I’ve lived a solitary life there in a space apart from the rest. Never heard I love you growing up, and so-not-so that to hear it now from the mouth of one maternal, I am paused. I feel molested, unsafe. It is unnatural. Words never before heard coming nigh to my ears now when the clock has turned me toward my forties.
You cannot cultivate today that which was to be planted years before I birthed into the arms of someone who desired me only to abandon me all the same.
This we know well. It is the mark of the beast that’s been branded into a hidden place atop our skin revealed in times where nostalgia flees. What am I to remember when there were no happy endings? There have only been new beginnings, ones I’ve created out of my own shape-shifting. I’ve twisted and turned again and again that my footprints not resemble those of the past. I’ve not walked beside you for a reason.
I keep watch my eye. Steady. And I turn it in the direction of hope and love. I hope that love buries itself inside the layers of my being that even when peeled, I am there cradled in the intimate touch of Life.
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