Where we forget to feel. A meditation on the spirituality of feeling.

Sweet face, these tears are the melting of frozen spaces you never knew were there.

In the freezing all was forgotten. In the great freeze, my love, feeling flew away and the space grew so cold it felt harder than stone, as if it were separate from you.

And all the beauty of who you are is caught there, dear one, held in stasis behind mirrors of ice.


So cry, my lovely, cry. Surrender to the melting, for it will be the rebirth of beauty.

These great structures that belief told compose your heart, they are made of atoms of love, my love.

Stay with them, become them, be in love with them.

Although they are cold, you are warmer than the most nurturing sun. They will dissolve in the heat of your presence. Just stay near the ice and whisper “I AM HERE” as you would to a newborn child or a dying friend. Tell these forms I AM HERE.

See their crisp, diamond beauty as they reflect the colors of light. Drink from the sweet melting. Each drop uniting with the whole.

Do not cut them but rest there as a creator. Do not push or pull, but let the heat of your awareness warm them, and when you are allowed to pass inside, welcome the invitation.

Open your arms and surrender to it all, telling every piece of glinting shrapnel from battles long lost and won: “I am you and you are me.”

How can I pass there, in a place so cruel and bereft of blood and life and human pulse?

A great warmth passes through the planet of the heart, an infinite softness passing through the spaces between every atom of form, and the body is eased and the mind is silent.

“From eternity, you pass through all form,” answers the One. “Because I am you and you are me and I AM HERE.”

And love, she flows through floodgates of ice suddenly releasing and the ice cascading on the surface of the water is melting as quickly as it moves.

It is transforming in a chaos of feeling and the mind is silent as feeling reclaims the  river.

A sacred remembering of all we are and a celebration of life and sound, quietening to the beautiful melody of a cello played alone in the basement of being, the space where beauty and pain are one.