gift
small pile of heart
practicing my letters
breathe what is written
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Sometimes the sheer gift of what it is to be alive overwhelms me. It seems strange to say it, but its all too true; like light streaming into a small cloth soaked body, the stitched threads I am (of what holds me as me) seem to take in too much and I stretch out (wanting) to almost break open.
To sing, or to sway like grasses in the fields near the sand dunes and sea where I played in the sun as a child. Anything can trigger it; its almost a presence like love-soaked-time (it sits with you) and wraps you in the robe of Its body, sweet and warm.
True excess of bounty..., and a gift of attention, from practicing meditation probably. Maybe, it just is: Life. The sun soaked thing we crave from nice sunny days--but it burst up from within? Love. Love is always its first name, but it has no boundry. (i shrug my shoulders to say this... i can't say it).
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Larger post at Tumbleword's other site, as always.
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Peace, humor, and grace to all who enter here.
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7 comments:
you always have the best words to accompany your beautiful images. everthing you day here is so true. the images are serene.
Your pictures are breathtaking, as usual...
So fantastic and solemn pictures (both photos and text) and thanks for your encourageing comments. You are a real poet!!!!!!!!!!
You have a truly poetic eye, and a more poetic soul.
just to say hi and I love your blog! came via masala chai. I saw your name 'mansuetude' yesterday and dreamt about it all night - it kept blurring with the word 'saudade' for some weird reason... Anyway I knew I had to check you out :)
Wonderful photos, full of mystery.
Good post.
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