Sometimes we get too caught up in daylight and activity and forget. We are so tired from the work and toil of the day that we roll into bed and ignore the dark, ignore the magic and mystery of your hours. You are beautiful, Moon, and wise. We feel embraced.
I have to go through the doors that are open, and follow divine timing. I have to live what I've been reading about. Reading the book and using it are two different things. How do I know if I've read enough, or should I just let go and live, step away from chronicles? I'm not ready to emanate, I'm afraid to purely be.
There is that shining eternal, a glimpse of soul in the forest, a raw, pure, remembered sentiment common among groves and glades, one of deep truth. Fearful and lovely, lonely.
There are powers shifting, things blossoming, and I can only half remember, I have to walk the line blindfolded, stern judgment (my own?) behind me. I shall sow the seeds with truth and carry my burden to its finish.
I had forgotten the feel of sweat, the smells of work and the dirt, and the sunshine on me hot. A closeness with the wet and the green, a talking to the particular patch of land as I work. No, not talking. Listening. That is what I had forgotten.
Listening.
There are some things to be said for solitude.
I do not know the word for shovel in French. Nor the word for hoe.
...speaking of lovely! These are beautiful.
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ReplyDeleteDay people.