Words of the Disciple
The tangle of roots in mud and clay hold the impossible height swaying above the rooftops. I burrow down in what’s left of imagination, clawing
January 28, 2024
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The tangle of roots in mud and clay hold the impossible height swaying above the rooftops. I burrow down in what’s left of imagination, clawing
Quietly he gathers attention to the still point within, a candle flame brightening the inner sanctuary where life force pulses. His roots of awareness drink
After the burden of travel I return to the evergreen valley with winter light along the rim. Without wonder the soul becomes weary, needing the
In early dawn hours the moon sets in the west, Venus alight in the eastern sky. Perhaps I’m foolish to become so joyful yet I