Monday, March 30, 2015

Bystanders of Her Movement

The day moves through me.
It is as if I am a ghost-like whisper, a transparent channel that she travels through on her way to tomorrow.

I absorb her like a sponge, remembering every ounce of every special moment, every color in the sky at sunset, every smell as I drive. I collect these tiny memories like seashells buried away in the sand.

Windows down- the breeze kisses my face.
Walls down- the breeze enters my heart.

The day moves through me.
I collect, I take in.
I study her movement- her beginnings, her ends, her surprises, her habits.

The day moves through me.
I sit, I stand, I sip, I swallow, I sense, I surrender.

The day moves through me.
I fight, I find, I forget, I freeze, I fall, I… surrender.

To her sacred being, her sacred breath.
Her sacred movement within me, within all of us.

Together, we are the bystanders of her movement.
Together, we are the observers of her practice.

We Watch. 
We Listen.
We Surrender to her movement within us.

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