You are Chosen
Sticky sticky manipulation
Under the guise of spiritual rhetoric
Its potent effects are felt.
I refuse its force
The tightening grip of its prying fingers.
Leaning into the allowing
To the experiencing
To the trusting.
Where the foundation is strong so too is the knowing.
The leaky container weeps…
Caught in the loop of control and suffering.
Grasping for love and understanding.
Stillness.
Allow.
Breath.
Trust.
This is the slow and tender way of her…
the softness she embraces.
More being less doing she pleads…
and yet the neurosis and suffrage bleed forth.
Consume.
Consume.
Consume.
One more training.
One more wiser than wise world renound teacher.
More. More. More.
Harder. Faster. Fiercer.
Chasing.
Or…
Presence.
Allow.
Breath.
Trust.
Ascension is coming, my love.
To all of us.
For all of us.
Be here now.
Human.
Whole.
Chosen.
The shackles fall away.
You, my love, are free.
This year has been exactly what I requested. A grounding force. Years of running away or running toward. Of gathering knowledge and not fully trusting the wisdom within. People pleasing and confusion. Last year at this time I was just arriving in the wisdom of my own existential kink. The ways in which chosen suffering was shaping my life. The was in which victimhood still lingered in my bones. I was still in the intellectual stage of absorbing these truths. Now it has soaked in. I am dripping in its knowledge and its poetry seeps from my skin. If this is embodiment I want more and more and more and yet what I know is the more is in this moment.
In presence.
In being.
The chase dissipates.
It was in the making love to God that it was revealed we are one.
Sweet story, you are loved. I value you. I observe you. I choose you.
This is integration.
Patience, she is opening.
To end this chapter and begin the next, a sweet ceremony of gratitude for all that was all that is to come, and all that is now.
I am Home.
