All things rise and fall, waves rushing shore only to recede out of reach. We’d have to be in the deep end where calm abides and the feathers go unruffled. Life teaches us this. We learn in time, our own time.
It passes. Our reach out of reach, too late for the reaching. It happens in moments. Timing. It is everything, including an illusion. What is simply is. What is not also is. Interconnected. We mix inside of the mingling of the cosmos. Magic. It is the manifestation of our arriving in the same space at the same time across skies.
They change in-set. Fading into the autumn of colors. Rising inside the bright of new. Still does my eye find you through seasons. You, a season before. Me, a season in now. We cross in-bloom.
That is what we do after planting seeds. We allow the room and space for birthing. I’ve been promised the desires of my heart and they draw nigh. I am ever-close to revealing the revelations of what is real.
We come and we go. We arrive inside the now before it sees itself as three: past, present, future. It is all one. Even before now when you birthed and knew not the knowing of what would come later, it was so.
Much happens there in the space of receptivity, of naming it, of birthing its truth. There is the uncertainty of the unknown; there is the loss of what was had; there are the pangs of growth. Manifestation.
It is worth the journey. It is worth the wait.