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?
The holding hand is brought to life, when I lie on the ground and my only focus is to inhale and exhale, while I warm my heart and stomach with my hands. When I hold my hands on the same direct spot for a while, it feels like I’m hugging…
Train ride in bright sunshine Stations wizzing by, then a bridge. Under September clouds a single bird turns and completes a new spiral. The sunlight blinds me I close my eyes, let the frail warmth sink in and fill my features. Time for waiting