On this plane,

Form is taken

For reality,

Reality for form.

In God…

I live

Between dreams,

Knowing myself

In the soft

Of a feather,

The crunch

Of a drying

Leaf…

At a loss for words

When we contain

Everything,

Living itself is

Revelation –

Seeds don’t grow

They merely wait

On ripening trees,

Drying in the husks

Of grasses

Open eyed,

Innocent disciples of

Mother mystery.

Presence is an invisible quality of being. A vibrating, humming expression of aliveness…

“Value lies in what we are, not in what we think ourselves to be.”