The delicate tracery of words
Spins a web of connection
To the deep within,
A place of still silence
Where peace flows unsullied
By errant thought.
Beauty is birthed
In these moments
Of full presence,
Timeless fragments of being,
Holy and other
Communing with Source.
Spins a web of connection
To the deep within,
A place of still silence
Where peace flows unsullied
By errant thought.
Beauty is birthed
In these moments
Of full presence,
Timeless fragments of being,
Holy and other
Communing with Source.
Labels: meditation, poetry, Source
1 Comments:
those thoughts, I can always hear them, but there is no noise
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