You are the push and the pull, and this is your living being, to which you could never be ‘other’.
Agendas, longings and old sensations are dancing for you here, appearing and vanishing like passing glances around a place called home, happening anyway like your unnoticed breathing, here, now. All these happenings are just memory imprints of some tiny branch happily moving, somewhere far away, at the outer perimeters of all you are.
Without you, there is no dance, no love, no peace. Without you, there is no secret or wild longing for – something.
This longing: it is not other. This longing is for that which will not dance, that which will not come, that which can never be found.
This waiting: it is for nothing. Who would wait for themselves to arrive? The lost one will never be found like this. Not until, the lost child finds herself.
This cherished one for whom you wait, cannot come, for his way is blocked by thought clauses of fear. He cannot come home to you, for you are already that one.
You are the push and the pull, the vortex and spin, the lovers embrace, the success, the power, the passion of it all.
You, and only you, can fall back and uncover that this was you, all along, looking out, from a space beyond time and a place beyond space, expanding in softest rhythms of peace.
And division bells, they ring, as if sound could cut eternity forever. But you are here now, just as I am you and you are me. In this glorious, silent ‘here’, pregnant with potential, never divided.
