Monday, March 3, 2008

~ practicing my letters


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).
.
'
Larger post at Tumbleword's other site, as always.
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Peace, humor, and grace to all who enter here.
.

7 comments:

cally said...

you always have the best words to accompany your beautiful images. everthing you day here is so true. the images are serene.

Mary-Laure said...

Your pictures are breathtaking, as usual...

Marie-Louise said...

So fantastic and solemn pictures (both photos and text) and thanks for your encourageing comments. You are a real poet!!!!!!!!!!

Esti said...

You have a truly poetic eye, and a more poetic soul.

headmistress said...

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 :)

andrea tachezy said...

Wonderful photos, full of mystery.

Lovette said...

Good post.