It is I who am your greatest longing.
I long for you to open yourself and receive all that is.
For when you do so my dear, you will realize that there is only This. Only Love.
Can you feel me when you are moved?
Can you feel that there is no other way but to surrender yourself to the beautiful pain that is the very substance of This?
Can you be ignorant enough to allow that which you don’t realize you know?
Can you be big enough to feel that which is bleeding for you, in every moment?
As I sit here, looking out over the fields of a simpler existence, I feel the sadness. Not of loss, or not having, but of that which I dare not fully allow myself to feel.
Out there, beyond the trees is a golden sun, waiting to burn you up in its glorious fire.
Can you allow yourself to burn in Love and release that in you which is not really alive?
I’ve worked very hard to preen his image, and yet I hate him for it. I hate him for being something untouchable, like the stranger in the mirror. A reflection of something I invented.
Every crumb of suffering I am fed has the same elusive imprint.
And as I invite the taste of them in just enough, so as to follow the trail back to the one that dropped them, they lead to the same lakeside.
The one where I’ve forgotten who I really am.
The one where before I knew how to, I created an image in the water, and loved him so desperately.
I cry for him, as I hate him for stealing my skin and pulling the strings of innocence.
I curse him for doing all he can to keep his own freedom. He who has been my greatest love, and my oldest friend. So delicate.
And yet, as I feed him I starve. And I am so very hungry. Hungry for the beauty that I am. Hungry for the space that I am asked to exhibit.
I love you my young friend, so very dearly. You are everything I thought I wanted.
You are nothing like me, and for that I love you unconditionally, as I offer you up.
Remember. There is only This. Only love.