Just A Word

God is just a word
I spent years hating and fearing this word.
Religion gave me rules, boundaries, cages.
Spirituality gave me wings.

Fear is just an opportunity for learning
We fear the unknown
I’m learning to replace fear with curiosity.

God is just a word
It does not have a face, a form
Three letters: G-O-D

Aversion to a cage has a power over me like none other.

God has one general meaning, but innumerable interpretations
A spirit or force that controls Nature and everything in it.
The presence which allows me to weep after years of apathy.
A sense of oneness, balance among body, mind and soul.
Psychic comfort.

There are many names, many words
Spirit, Soul, Mother Nature, God, Goddess, Moon, Mother, Father, Creator, It
But the Tao that can be named is not the true Tao

“The truth doesn’t burn. The truth waits for anyone who wishes to find it”
Richard Bach- One

Be still, be quiet

It feels like I lost my voice, but I move my mouth and words tumble out.
The months went by and I kept quiet

Mother wrapped me in her quilt and whispered “hush, be still sweet child. I have big plans for you.”

I wondered if I’d ever write another blog post.
How do I break the ice?
Life goes on.
Days pass.

I am experiencing life and death simultaneously.
I am shedding my shell.
I am letting go of the guilt I have for no longer fitting.
I am taking a step, then another step. One piece at a time.
I am
I am
I am

Is this thing still on?

Maybe the beauty of love is in our ability to deliver time and time again those soft feelings, those wistful words and timeless dreams.

An author new to me says: “Love is where I both find my voice and lose it. I can touch the place in me where I vanished into the hands of a lover, crazy and foolish, driven and mad. I became a wild boar rooting in disturbed soil for truffles. And they were truffles, wonderful and rich, but occasional. In love, the tongue writes wet words on the skin in a shining script where letters disappear like invisible ink, leaving only sensation.” What words, to be written and loved, to be cherished and thoughtful.

Love is love is love.

It doesn’t matter the hand that delivers it, the heart that portrays it, the eyes that cry from every pore such love that is immeasurable.

We love. Over and over and over again. We love.

Maybe that’s our superpower. That in a world so seductively filled with despair, we are able to time and time again fall in love.

Do you ever think back to past lovers? Do you ponder your ability to share intimacy with one and move on with fervent optimism, relaying to the world that one connection was mere experience and another suits you better? Does it phase you that decades ago it would have been blasphemous to take multiple lovers, but in a society thriving on individuality, the only thing that matters now is your story?

Maybe love isn’t finding “someone”
Maybe love is a state of being

Love comes from within and pours into every ounce of this reality.