it seems that I arise in the longing to share this, knowing this perspective can never be shared.... knowing there are no others and no one to sing or hear her echo across the great divide... and yet...
we seem to arise in the empty space in-between us...
reflections ...dancing in love as love through love....
this dance of soundless echoes in the vastness of light without light... space without space.. emptiness without emptiness....
we are these stories of deep deep sorrow and overarching joy...
of a little girl who wept at the beauty and awe of being and who believed she had lost it and wept for forty years... and realized one day that love was never hers to give or lose... love had always sung her lines as it erased them....
and calling it love is the dream
as it all is... yet love is the closest of kisses... but it cannot kiss itself....
all words paint a kaleidoscope of colors... and shapes... a moving swirling dream ballet falling through echos of watercolors... this twirling reflection falls through its own pirouette and leaves no wake or shadow....
the letters from seekers who are the belief that there is a self that can be or should be erased reminds me of the pain... yet it grows more distant with each passing year... and I weep that they feel that there is something wrong, that they are wrong and lacking, and that I have something that they do not... I see everyone including this imaginary dancer as most beautifully innocent...
as no one is wearing the clothes of belief... no one lies under this gorgeous nakedness which so many fear... no one chooses their beautiful colors... as there is no one wearing a self... no one has a self... there is only this dream dancing.... this dream of infinite wonder dreaming itself....
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