❝ I feel like the seams that hold the shape of me together will
gently unravel through the holes in my spirit and let me drift away in pieces beyond the sky into space that seems infinite to our superbly limited minds for all things have an end and a beginning and I know I will be forever lost in the overarching great lack between things of light and fire and magnitude and weight and space negative and free and absent and I will be an insignificant free-wheeling speck u n t e t h e r e d ❞
1 Comment
❝ Do you see Him in the sweeping of the branches, leaves caressed by winds unseen?
In the leaping and rushing melody of water, tumbling along its preordained course? In the quiet glow of the moon, gently illuminating the fearsome night? In the scattering of the stars in skies dark, guiding the seekers and the lost? In the vastness of the untameable seas and oceans, and the dark worlds hidden in her depths? In the loftiness of mountains soaring high and in the shadows of valleys hollowed? Verily is remembrance of Him the Creed of all Creation, conveyed by Messengers and Prophets beloved. Do you see Him in the sweeping of the branches, leaves caressed by winds unseen? ❞ ❝ you are tired of burning troy, and laughing helen, and screaming cassandra, and the wooden horse. you are tired of the follies of men whose heels and whose hearts will destroy them, of men who grasp after women in the face of calamity, of men who die in the shape of their love. and then one day, you dream. in the dream, sand blows across your feet, hot and rasping, under a sky so blue it blazes white, and the sun shines against a mosque that is only palm fronds lashed together. in the dream, you hear the call to remembrance in the clear voice of a freed man, and it rings in your chest like a stone being lifted. in the dream, water flows from dry earth with the drum-beat of a baby’s heels, and the baby laughs, his tears drying, and the mother cries, her tears joyous. in the dream, there is a city, and a lover, most beloved, saying, believe, believe, believe. in the dream, a company of angels rear against a battlefield, shining and terrible and vast, like a sandstorm of light. the enemy flees. you wake from this dream with shame burning you, like the kiss of a disappointed mother on your brow. ❞ —how sorry you are that your tradition is a stranger
|