Ok, so now I feel I goofed, speaking with a sharp tongue I didn’t know was pointy. Your shame is my shame and all of it welcome. Funny how connections and togetherness and an inclusive wholeness shares feelings like a ball ricocheting off walls of desire and defense and habit and love.

Who is it who is feeling all these feeling? Who meditates and writes and writes and meditates?

I suddenly feel all surface, a voice that spits blue ink onto a page of papered trees and all the insecurities of human experience tumble and clash and laugh.

I want to sit still, close my eyes, dream, surrender and allow the moment to fly by, be still, or sing. Whatever it wants. The Universe is painting this moment, throwing shapes and colors and light and air into a dance of perceptions, dance and perceptions both, dancing perceptions.

Trust without judgement, celebrate the mixture and textures of life, the push and the pull and the stillness within it all. Spill the beans, pour the color, feel the
living,
breathing,
flowing
pulse of existence.

Something is running, wants to run, scream, climb a mountain, yell at the top, take wing and fly. Skin is peeling, a rawness is exposed.

I hear crying, is it I? Something deep, long buried. This I, this doing self is stymied, baffled, silenced. Something, No thing watches, waits, holds.

Forgive me, the doing self says. I forgot for a moment.