Today

Wednesday, September 11

touching purposeful places
prayer softens my heart
casting a net of light

buried deeply within self
spun of theories, words, lessons
perhaps a cocoon of unmaking

tapping into the root
slowly absolving the past
forgetting all the not"I"

sit for a moment
awaken in non-words
simmer in truth

more and more words
rushing in every moment
dancing in my reality

words dear comforting companions
millennia of texts inscribed on my soul
make silence a very distant cousin

cuddling up with words
will they keep me warm
swathed in certainty or illusions

What if my meditation is words?
What if the dictionary is my my holy text?
Is there a lesser way to God?



"A library of wisdom, is more precious than all wealth, and all things that are desirable cannot be compared to it. Whoever therefore claims to be zealous of truth, of happiness, of wisdom or knowledge, must become a lover of books." -  Earl Nightingale

Perhaps words are like a ball of yarn