“Traveler, there is no path, the path must be forged as you walk. ~ Antonio Machado
Here’s to the book burning party in my soul.
Goodbye to the agenda society smudged into me.
I’m a pink lotus flower. My crown is a cotton candy headdress. My belly a river rolling.
I’m a baby forming in the Universe’s womb.
A free being. I float. I do not know agenda.
How could I write lists when I gave my words to the earth?
Mother nature rocks me. I am new life, a mysterious seedling of divine flowering cells.
I know nothing. Thank God.
I’m not the books my mother wrote or the words she spoke or screamed.
I am love. Loved. Loving. It’s my thing.
I’m not my sister’s grief or her keeper. She’s not my savior.
I don’t owe her. I love her.
I love me, too. And our sweet destiny intertwined by mystery.
I’m not competition. I’m a feather floating.
Rose quartz, Tanzanite, and a coyote.
I cost nothing. Charge nothing.
I am the wind, the dirt, the knife my grandfather created with shiny metal and dappled colored scraps, carving my path the way rivers erode the earth.
I smell of lavender and rose petals and sage.
I don’t count my worthiness from words on pages. They take their own form.
I’m not commander-in-chief. Nor do I want to be.
I’m song and chant and freedom dance.
Ong Namo Guru Dev Namo. I bow to the divine teacher within.
I am Sat Nam. Truth is my identity.
Watch me, a full moon at dawn. Hear me, gratitude laced with laughter.
We are blessed and blessing. We bless as we take breath.
I’m a smooth stone and a child’s handprint in wet cement.
I don’t mind being a misfit.
It was all that fitting in, proving, planning, getting over, waking up, trying, deciding, failing…so damn tiring!
Now, we just are. Nothing. From which everything forms.
A blank canvas of dark night where stars blaze and amaze and awaken imagination.
We are a society stopped, the breath in between the notes of a song not yet written.
We are harmony rising.