Still, I type.
Still, I sit
in a
a pregnant, fertile, silence.
Still, I bee.
Patiently waiting the moment
to burst forth and emerge.
Yet, the stillness remains.
Still I weep,
still I dance,
still I sing,
stillness calls my Soul,
beckoning me back,
to when there was no separation between,
no illusion of something more,
bigger, grander, or better than this.
Still I call, harmonizing with your vibration,
wondering when the veil will drop and all will bee
revealed,
STILL.
