Part-Time Ghosts

Fog and mist freezes on the road towards dawn. Moonlight overhead adds depth to the shroud and I am here for it. I'm really not sure what the word “God” means anymore but the lesson is: you cannot love God until you love yourself and similarly, you love God by loving your brother – as your self. My spiritual rib taught me this and now I will figure out to how to teach others.

P. Raymond Stewart said, as a reminder of how little effort or grievance is necessary when we live in the kingdom at hand, “we do not need to grasp for air: we simply need to breathe.” So it is that we do not need to strive or work anything out in order to know God or Love or peace. We must only allow.

I've been partial in my allowance. In my partiality, I have hurt others which means, I have hurt myself. All the narratives, myths, missteps, and reframes were prayers already answered.

Just past noon, sunlight breaks the leaden sky like a golden laser. Settled snow falls off high branches to fill the air with glittering light. Juncos gather at the base of the evergreen bush as the nut hatch paces the grooves of furrowed trunks. I wonder if hunger has now gone to sleep like my beloved October. Come sit at the table for some wintertime soup – let us see.

missing midnight's mountain
runoff and cold camps
of bears –
we are part-time ghosts
to the past

I am no longer gyved to the whispers of what-if, for I trust the path that Love has made of me. Aum and the silence that falls from our lips.