. . . Some say the eyes are windows to the soul and some they knock with stones . Once there were shattered glass in my eyes now I walk on those shards trying to not make a sound pretending the woollen floor is a river of drops since I do not wish to cause a racket . But maybe perhaps I'll see you in Home once more glancing through coloured blinds and the heart would truly smile . . .
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I look ahead, the manifestation streches out before me as an ocean, I am waiting to go in, one small step at a time. What will happen when we dive in completely? Will we know that it has happened, before it is over? – The Fruit Carrier
searching rest in movement, I waste myself, afloat carrying and being carried forceful, yielding a soluble state of being availability of moving and being moved letting go carried away bent by what escapes me inhabiting contradictory forces, I find myself in between.