Spirit works through us,
as the sun stretches far into deep caverns,
even as it dances upon the surface of things,
it still falls down to inconceivable foundations
where dark creatures are free in their mysteries.
Every living creature breathing,
has the sun shining through it,
for light we are,
and to light we will return,
flowing like the waters;
but unlike the waters,
we cannot be contained.
So, we flow into and out of one another,
organ from organ, cell to cell, pain to memory:
we are one, but not even parts of the whole,
for we are invisible to the naked eye,
nudging us as we arise into new dreams
while we are still sleep walking.
This is what love is.
Not the desire.
Not the romance.
Love is the sun that showers,
The light that floods us all.
You can see them if you ask,
If you stand in the Present.
If you awaken from your sleep.
The harmless words we speak in the theater
can shatter the heart of those who hear us,
launching them into unknown darkness;
for the shadows contain more light,
than the intentional speeches of mind.
These are acts of love.
We live here on the earth in ignorance.
Nothing works as we expect.
We do not love who we think we love.
Our intentions fall like leaves in autumn,
for spirit uses our mind like pawns
so that we might love more.
We are that for each other.
We are that for Spirit.
we are the others for each other.
Mirrors within mirrors never-ending,
encouraging, goading each to see the truth,
that we are one and where one goes, goes all.
that if you are in pain, I feel it;
that if you are in joy, I feel it;
the boundaries are all illusion.
can you feel each cell’s desire to be free,
not by itself, but in the body’s entirety?
But mind wants to understand by dividing:
are these words a poem or a bit of prose?
do they rhyme? is the rhythm right? do I like it?
But this is nothing at all, just the spellings on screen,
a strange uncanny bit of light flickers in between,
an attempt to point towards a living being dreaming
that wants its soul, its planetary body, to see.
When you hate the other one,
you hate forgotten pieces of you.
When you love the other one,
You love forgotten pieces of you.
That is why, when you reach out,
you are reaching out to shadows,
phantoms that dissolve as they say,
as the dust in the wind,
as child’s dream dissolve.
The others are there to remind you of yourself.
The other is never other.
The other is what you have abandoned in yourself
When you return, the other dissolves.
We are not the mirror,
but we pretend to live in all the reflections of the mirror
like children playing house or school
before they know what is a house or school.
By the light of the Spirit working through us,
We live in fantasy and play in order to grow,
fed by a light showering light through all by all,
until the day where we as Source do see
and in silence stand we speechless
in the Presence of what love is,
that it is One,
that it is We.
Soul in the machine 