His Face Was of God
I wonder what measures truth, tales,
and everything in between.
The sounds have arrived,
their wings secretively remembering the wind.
Lots of them danced in a fancy game,
yet few has a truthful name.
A name that shivers in truth,
resilient, honest, and quietly joyful.
A name with words that stare you back.
For I look everyone right in the eye.
That is fine to me.
I have slowly reclaimed this island.
Its forest bursts in fog and rain.
It grows and laughs.
Oh my dear forest, my land, a dream that dreams.
Purify this existence.
Together with me let’s flow like electricity
all the way to a destination called my soul.
Let’s cut through the void of my own mind,
and lovingly observe thoughts lovingly dissolve.
I imagined I am no longer under the reign of words.
For the first time I breathed. Oh my.
I hugged myself, like an Indian who,
finally met the ancestor that named her centuries ago.
His face is of God.
It has been a magnificent journey
Stories slowly start to form landscape in a different way.
In a different way,
words and symbols collapse to give a pathway.
A pathway that defies descriptions.
A pathway that swims
Like electricity, towards my soul, a heaven on earth.
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A seeker, I write to surrender. I write about money & spirit, joy & mastery. Trained in the traditional mystical school of the Toltec linage and the business school, I often write from those and many other perspectives.