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Unbound


While I know in my heart of heart there is no separation, I wish for no separation on this physical plane. The era of grief is over. Done with. Finished and the decade of joining, rejoining and rejoicing is upon us. This does not mean that there won’t be difficulties or even tragedy. But there is a beginning of what is important, truly. More than the voice, more than the location, more than the lived life. It has to do with the stance of each foot and strength in the body and beyond the body. It is a place where words are given over to deep listening. Living beyond the realm of death. It has to do with lemon zest on pea soup, with sesame oil on carrot soup, the freshly cut fruit beside the whole blueberry, beside the raspberry. The red cabbage, baked fish. The bowl of dark chocolate that passes around the room, first one-way and then the other. The naked feet, the uncovered head. That rolled birch bark. A French poem sung from the heart of the throat. Our aspect to the sun and moon, the earth. Thirteen years ago, he said I am love, I am loved. And so it will come true, this no separation. And there will be laughter, beginning with the turning up of the mouth, the lips. Teeth unclenched. The body breathing itself. The gaze. Inner and outer. The seen and unseen. In the company of ferocious beings. Divinity. Rest assured.

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