what if
it could actually be all simple?
it could actually be all simple?
I had an unexpected revelation while browsing the book section at a local Goodwill. Here’s a page from Ways of Seeing by John Berger.
because i’ve made peace with my light and shadow because of the love i’ve worked to cultivate for myself because i have done the work most people run away from because of my inner knowing and trust to follow through with it
this, is earned.
you cannot tolerate me because my light illuminates your shadow. i see right through BS and my authenticity intimidates you. i show up truthfully and wholeheartedly and give you my all – mind, body, and soul… just like you wanted. but you don’t know how to receive me as a whole because you are in denial of who you could be, hiding behind heavy layers of who you think you should be.
my soul has lived many, many lives my intuition is not random it is the accumulation of knowledge and experiences from my past and current lives
Or do you find comfort in associating yourself with those who give you a false sense of belonging, security, and strength?
he loved and worshipped her but his vessel was too small to receive her as a whole
the grandeur of her love the brightness of her light the purity of her heart and soul
it was all too shiny too good to be true so he turned it into evil
if he only knew it was the most real thing he’d ever experienced
she tells me there was a man in her life a long time ago
she loved him with all her heart
but they couldn’t be together
this was before her marriage
the man and grandpa shared the same name
she spent the rest of her life with resentment and anger
and the resentment and anger infected everyone who came into her life and the lives she created
every summer i take two trains to get to her along the coast watching the shimmers on the calm waves soon i will get to her to her warmth her cooking her energy her love
her house is messy the floors greasy with the oil and steam from her constant cooking her constant love heavy love
her house always open women from the neighborhood loud tv snacks on the table in the morning i’m on her bicycle rusty with a pink cover she wears the same hat she rides to the same places peaceful winds on my cheeks on my tanned legs i smell her
she doesn’t ask she just does
i miss her
i miss my grandma