No small year, he thought. People left the earth by violence, sickness, self neglect; friends of the heart were found, love reborn, spirit awoken.
Confused by bitterness, blessed with forgiveness… he struggled as some turned their backs on him, while others carried him. Where he once fancied himself as a wealthy man, he soon realized himself to be destitute. So he took to sail over oceans within oceans, and discovered fortune in placeless places, but still found the holds of his heart hardly seaworthy of such precious cargo.
In a tavern, set in a distant port, of some distant harbor, he took on a masterful and beloved companion and they read and wrote poetry, smoked sweet pipes, danced on the deck to the nay and tabla, and cleansed in the ancient trade winds. The two wayfarers saw brilliant reflections in the mirror of every still and flowing God-given thing, conceivable and inconceivable. In these shimmered the images of the divine female, child, and male.
An unfolding spirit detangles a wound soul.
A year ends EVERY day, each the luminous culmination of an aeon. Make each days anniversary a timeless and meaningful discovery… Be humble with what you have now, and rejoice in what you cannot carry, let alone fathom. When you are compelled to speak, it is really something great asking you to listen.
