The day is better when it beegins with you.
Instead, I pull myself from bed and lumber through
a morning of lost rhythm. It's an unusual place with
no chickens to feed and without any birds singing. Rather, the steady
buzz of a busy freeway beckons. Like all good things, it is only
temporary though. A brief respite before whatever is to come next,
whatever is to come.
Ransacking the bookshelf, my fingertips scrolling across spines,
my hunger blazing. Always seeking, I am a bee~ing in perpetual motion.
Finally, last night, I noticed that all the books here speak to me on a
profound level. Authors that have often been recommended; sages who have touched
my Soul; others that I've either already been flipping through elsewhere or wanting to
sink into. Oh P, the depth that dances between us is found in the sparkle of our eyes!
It is found in the sparkle of our eyes.
It took me a few weeks, yet I found what I came here for.
My spiritual teacher hidden amongst the colorful pageantry.
We have yet to meet, and perhaps never will, but Mr. Coelho your work
is a dose of light shot straight into my center.
Shot straight into my center.
"The Witch of Portobello," you called her, as I voraciously read
about wandering gypsies ~ because the Earth is
our home ~ and how it is only through breaking rhythm that we sink deeper into
who we are and where our paths are to lead.
WHO WE ARE & WHERE OUR PATHS LEAD.
"There is no time; there is only space."
