Arid air I breath;
dry bones yearn for movement;
desert sands burn.
Words no longer drip from my tongue.
Words from beyond are scarce.
I wait in barren time;
I wait. . .
Hope is thin like thread;
still, it holds me.
Presence eludes me – imperceivable;
still, a secret conversation stirs within – imperceptible.
I close my eyes;
Breath –
a prayer forms like dew. . .
What is this longing pushing its way through the dark soil of my soul?
What is pleading to be birthed from the depths?
Ego – do not repress this blossoming by sowing your seeds of fear;
do not drown it with denial,
nor choke it with the weeds of self-doubt.
Freedom’s fruit is only patience, perseverance, and perception away;
Life rises in the letting go;
in the Trusting…
Along The Way 