Where will I find you, my friend? In an accusing forest of laws, tortured by stories repented yet never truly told?
Where will I find you, my friend? In an accusing forest of laws, tortured by stories repented yet never truly told?
Yes, we look at stuff: heads, houses, trees, under skies we lie are finite just as I watch she who I think I am, through eyes bent by illusion of night.
Why do you pretend, my lovely? There, on that lonely height? How are you truly believing that these thin cries of strife can rival the earthly cry of life?
Don’t miss me. Breathe. I am in the wind. Don’t long for me. Drink, for I am the water. Don’t speak for me. Listen! I sing in the silence.
A mite of light spits out of me flowing liquid through vessels of dust embodying a center here, in this pin-point crater of eternity.
Here she is. A flame in a night of stars, and air so fresh it’s as if you’re tasting the outer precincts of this universe.
Screech of sound, it’s music, they say, turn around and cash, a cart in the way a steely face, and eyes avert criminal record, accused, inert,
Be Curious, my friend, that rifts will not tend us, letting absence pattern this blend, as light flickers through details of space and change, so that borders between us be intricate curtains, waving in beauty with soft winds of time.
“Perception doesn’t define who we are, but it does define where we are limited and where we are not yet free.” Georgi Georgi currently offers sessions in nondual therapy online and in person in Israel. She is also sometimes available…
You don’t know it yet, love, in a snow storm of despair You don’t feel it yet, peace, as sensation of care is cutting too deep for this one to bare. You don’t realize it yet, universe so needing, how…