Being in the Stream

A stream meanders down the rocky hillside, trickling shadows under a blanket of ice unable to prevent its march.

An small hawk hovers headlong into the wind, only a man’s height from the ground, which he scours with inscrutable vision.

The clouds billow southward from the rushing north winds, & collapse into a bowl like shape with the sun peaking over its golden lining.

The light of the sun is warm upon my face & upon my heart is a lie that is dying to be broken.

With forked tongue this lie hypnotizes me with the words “I never get what I need.” I honor its presence & I laugh.

Everything, absolutely everything around me is teeming with life, with love, with joy if I just open my eyes to really see.

An unmet need can lay still like the blanket of ice covering the life-giving waters pouring down from rocky mountains pristine.

Unfulfilled is the man blinded by self-absorption. I trickle. I hover. I blow the clouds southward to be gathered by golden sunlight.

(Part II:#7)

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