I can only be open. This is the way of my movement through life. Rivers runs deep crossing bridges invisible to the eye opened. Some things can only be seen in the dark solitude of one’s soul. I go there, wherever there is of my going.
Nothing exists outside the breath of the All, and all is what I know when I turn there within and listen to the Way.
What of me goes there down the road traveled less that your light be the only light of direction? I have followed. I follow still. You leave the lamp lit, keep fluid hidden below the surface where the deep go for retreat.
There is no other place of my swimming.
As a child I knew I would follow you there, dive head first into the truth of your Word. It means something to me, and you’ve always made good in that way, always turned water to wine. You intoxicate me. My drunkenness a ritual of salvation. I sit in order to be close to you. Closer still. I close my eyes and allow the tears to form to falling. I feel your presence, erotic like against my skin.
“This is who you are.”
You said it out loud to me, pointing at the words. Everything made sense in that moment. It was an instant of pure knowing.
“This is your job.”
It is the work of me. I feel it. I know it now beyond anything. I have asked that you make clear your voice, and to speak in such a way that there would be no confusion, no denying the right of you. Too, I have promised to walk through every opened door of your opening.
How tangible is the way you show that you hear me. How bountiful is the gift of you.