The Searcher came in search
To find messages from a multitude of hearts
White rose I picked up from the pavement
During my first departure
Air rose dipped in the red ink
Making rhythms in a dark room I painted
Your face with a clean brush
Why are you here?
Searchers need not search in solitude
The Searcher found a home of belonging
A place where we are always unfolding >>> expanding >>> inventing
Never finished. Ever becoming : ■•° ~> ☆
ARE WE there yet? life is an orientation
in that sense also a search; for bliss, warmth, sensations, resonance.
We are the ones we are searching for.
What do you hope to find?
Hang your wreath on the door, hang your wreath on the door, so that the evil spirits can not enter. Through community-creating rituals, we connect to material, history, body and to each other. Material: Intestines.A container, a cover, a passage. Slippery, waterresistant and seethrough.When dried: light, delicate and crisp. Past:…