(from a brook diary)

of entire being, the moment of heartbeat is held to no end of compassion, the moment of breath is a hope-born flame, revealing wings. soft streams of spirit layers are present in every particle of body, the essence of who you are ever thriving, timelessly remaining- even when the inner sense escapes and the gravity of sensations is failing.
no dream is to be corrected, as it gathers the light away from definitions into a realm of the sacred. how reverie echoes, how each unique part speaks the magic of its resonance, how the lucent feather is landing and confessed is a kind of prayer. treasured deeper than the deep.
soft is a melody that listens, and soft is the nature in hugging each despair since the earth’s beginnings. we are cared for, in ways uneasy to grasp but that are more perceived now- when too many are charmed by control and violence. yet peace exists- and most gloriously exists.
to live is not to govern but to let the being sing- its greying rooms with candle-shaped entrances, its strange chrysalis chambers with blooming exits, its windows of hopes, its sorrows and needs- and when encountering affinity that teems with understanding of no insistence – to dance as a floating bearer of flame, from the winter of those tender corners that allowed grace whatever happened.
such revolutions are the dearest- a subtle gesture, a piece of elven glass warm on the porch, a flurry in a breeze after a tear- as you are noticed by yourself and you notice what matters – as harmony is dancing without step-counting, as harshness stops moving you and you smile.

and slowly you are realizing
your beauty is simply
the recognition of what
you indelibly know within:
you are already whole and enough

and you’ve always been

dear heart (deep in light)

you saw the need from the beginning: shape of it as a soft bird weeping near a door closed to freedom at the edge of a realm lost, essence of it as a shy water wind yearning to breathe amid imposed battlefields. you saw and the grace of your hands winged a melody. you are my air.

sochelnik

this vespers is a slow prayer, chanting
of ancient grace and miracle amid nativity
to bring the heart of sacredness to life

and in a caving of the shepherd’s land
-a soft and golden story, gifted with myrrh
and incense to become the peace of sky