healing

The Release

In morn’s pleasant aroma,
with gentle breathing,
I released the burden,
a shadow companion,
not of the world,
but whirled in my head,
a being of my own making.

No irons bound me,
clutching fast,
but threads of thought,
so tightly spun,
today I let them loosen
from their hold,
to drift beyond
the mind’s own edges.

The skies,
a wide and unsealed canvas,
no longer stained
by “what may be.”

The trees
whirled wildly in the gust,
and I, at last,
was given sweet release.

For anxiety,
that foul specter,
was no more than breath,
pale and dim,
a play I’d written,
a story I’d spun.

Today,
I tear those yellowed pages in two.

And where dread had sat,
there is a garden,
its tale told
not in the icy grip
of “what might be,”
but in the radiance of
“here, with me.”
Bridges of the Scattered Self

When estrangement gains its hold,
a quiet severing begins,
not only from the voices without,
but from the murmur within.

We imagine the gulf yawns
only between ourselves and another,
a space grown cold and wide.

But look again.
The mind wanders a forgotten path,
a memory foggy with time,
or a future yet unspun.

Thoughts drift like leaves
blown far,
on a wind we cannot name.

And the body
experiences the phantom pull
of somewhere else
while remaining rooted
in this precise moment.

Even the eyes,
which are windows
to an invisible world,
gaze blankly into the present
while concentrating
on a far-off shore.

Our fragmented
and scattered selves,
each floating aimlessly
in its own ocean.

Kindness
should therefore be
a gentle hand
that unites all differences.
And respect
the bridge we build,
thought by careful thought.
Allow connection to be
the gathering, a homecoming
of all our scattered parts,
welcomed back
into the warmth of now.

Filed under: 🜂 Other – reflecting on connection, relationships, and the spaces between souls.
Stubborn Grace

A stubborn beast
with its feet firmly planted
in the muddy field
of my own errors.

Anguish is a dense fog
that swirls, blinds, and steals
the recognizable features
of my own soul.

The birdsong was a distant,
inaudible hum,
and fingers brushed
against petals
that had once been vibrant
but were now dull and quiet.

Indeed, forgiveness is a river
that churns through rocky terrain,
a constant murmur
against jagged edges,
finds the yielding ground,
and forges a new path.

Or rain, a gentle veil
dissolving the grime
that adheres to my skin,
a clean canvas waiting
for a fresh day.

Seasons change, my friend,
leaves unfold, then fall,
and the only thing that
accompanies this long journey
is the steady, slow rhythm
of our own two feet—
possibly a shimmering wand.

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.
Beyond Judgement

Don’t mistake judgment for knowing.
Don’t confuse lack of judgment
with weakness.

Before you know someone,
you must first know
and forgive yourself.
Then you shall
be blessed
to know another.
And when you do,
you forgive.

How can we
receive and give,
freely and genuinely,
if we stubbornly block
with a judgment passed—
given or received?

Is it possible
to truly live,
without dignity?

What we take
from others,
we take away
from ourselves first.
What we give others,
we give ourselves first.

Forgiveness doesn’t appear
after judgment;
it is always prior.
A choice.
It is innocence matured.
And clarity
lights the path
toward forgiveness.

Don’t let the grace
of forgiveness
slip past
your awareness.
Don’t remain attached
to the wrong relationships.
Show up
and be present.

We can’t grow—
if our bodies get older,
yet mentally, emotionally,
and spiritually we are
at a standstill in time.

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.
I Dream

Like a book written
in a forgotten tongue—
misunderstanding denies.

I count many tales
on my hand.
And I lay every night
on a pillow
of flame and tears.

Yet I believe in the light
within every heart,
a spark so small
it may seem invisible,
yet strong enough
to illuminate the darkest night.

I believe in dreams
whispered into the stars,
carried by the winds of hope,
and returned to us
as the gentle reminder
that all things are possible.

And I dream of mornings
yet to come,
of the sunlight
that warms our faces,
and of the gentle truth
that even the longest winters
give way to spring.

I gift you
my spring.

Filed under: 🜃 Infinite – exploring the unseen forces behind creation, truth, and existence.
What We Allow, We Become

It’s not your time
all the time.
There is always
a participant.

You reap
what you allow,
receive
what you give.

Allow love,
and love will touch you.
Allow distance,
and distance will grow.
Allow harm,
and wounds will follow.

We think of ourselves,
our reasons, our intent—
but thoughts spark senses,
senses ignite emotions,
and emotions shape the world.

Trapped in our own design,
we see only our little box,
blind to the truth,
to the reality,
to our own creation.

Step back.
Lift your head.
Look at your garden.

Are the ones who love you
smiling at you?
Are you smiling at yourself—
with forgiveness in your face
and grace in your embrace?

When you cause harm,
you fail yourself,
you lose your soul.
A knife cuts
the hand that wields it first,
for a knife is only found
in darkness.

See what is.
How close are the deepest connections?

Wisdom is ancient.
Seek the old.
The harmonious relationship
is a story best told
by a teacher who has lived it,
to a curious mind that longs to know—
the thoughts of the wise,
the emotions of the youth.

Be considerate.
Be kind.
Be gracious.
Be whole.
Be you connected to.

May I be
connected to.

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.
Unshackled

Trapped in a fantasy,
Ensnared in a dreamscape,
A gilded cage of your own design.

Paralyzed by fear,
Roots of doubt anchoring you to illusion,
Afraid to truly live.

Shielding yourself from
The guardian,
While baring your soul to
The hunter.

Doubting virtue,
Condemning it as vice,
While trusting the wicked,
As if malice were grace.

Clarity is absent,
Lost in the fog of self-deception,
Discernment deceived,
A compass spinning wildly,
Wisdom is a forgotten art,
Buried beneath layers of false knowing.

Arrive in the present.
Be here, now.
Show up for life.

Leave the foreign shadow.
Don’t miss the raw, unfiltered moment.

It’s simple—
Yet profound in its simplicity.
Slow your mind,
Let it breathe.

Unshackle yourself,
Break the chains of false perceptions.
Emerge from the cocoon of fear,
Spread wings of authenticity.

In the clarity of presence,
Find the strength to be vulnerable,
The courage to be real,
The wisdom to discern truth from lies.

Embrace the unscripted moment,
Where life’s true magic unfolds.
In nakedness of spirit,
Discover the freedom of being.

Unshackled at last,
Step into the light of your own truth,
Where every breath is a celebration,
And every moment, a rebirth.

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.
Windows of Hope

Picture this:
You are locked in a room,
With a single window.
Your only escape lies
Through that one window.
The potential of today,
And the freedom of now,
Seem distant.

Now, picture yourself,
Locked in a room,
Surrounded by many windows,
Each a different size.
One too small to climb through,
But it allows light to
Chase away the darkness,
Like dawn’s fingers parting night’s curtains,
Reminding you that you are not alone.

Each window plays its part.
Each window, a possibility.
Each window,
A blessing born of
Someone’s kindness.
A silent message:
“You matter, you are seen,”
Whispered by the breeze of compassion.

It is not the help
That saves us.
It is the offer to help
That brightens our day,
The quiet assurance
Of whispered, gentle care.

It is not the gift
That brings happiness.
It is the thought of giving
That fills us with joy,
Like a garden blooming in the heart,
The realization that in someone’s heart,
We are valued and appreciated
By a passionate effort,
A galaxy of care in our sky.

The helping hand
And the gift
Are but windows
And possibilities,
Choices and foundations,
Pillows for dreams,
Softening the hard edges of life.
Friends of hope and grace,
Lighting paths to healing,
And opening doors to tomorrow,
Portals to future days bright with promise.

We are all window-makers.

Filed under: 🜂 Other – reflecting on connection, relationships, and the spaces between souls.
Be Gentle

Be gentle with yourself.
Life rolls in waves, reflections, refractions,
Diffractions, and interferences.
You are an expression, an image,
A music and some lyrics.
Imagination is that brush
Of your pen and instrument.

Still remember
The most beautiful music
Has moments of silence.
Even the quiet times
Are meant to be
As valued as the high ones.
Inside those gaps
We create something new.

Have patience for your own growth.
Like a tree,
You have your seasons of bloom
There are times
When you shed leaves
And others when you stand still.
Its roots go deeper than it is aware,
And this life is anchored
Even amidst the invisible storms.

Embrace uncertainty.
In the world of possibilities,
Each move results in a new creation.
Each fall brings forth another lesson.
Each pivot imparts a fresh perspective.

Live in harmony with others.
Every different note
Contributes into our big song,
The one that sometimes leads
And at other times lends support.
In that community-wide
Joint effort towards music,
You must discover your own song,
tempo or place.

Paint outside the lines.
Conventions are often just suggestions,
Creative power is boundless.
To make your life canvas whole
Use all the colors of your soul on it.

Filed under: 🜁 Self – tracing the inner landscapes of thought, feeling, and becoming.