The Veil Lifts

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There are times when the veil lifts,
You have been here, but not like this.
Treading softly into seasons’ tenderness,
The whole world to touch, nothing less.

-tt

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What Kind of Day Will You Have?

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Where will you go today?
Are you excited
thinking about it?
Sometimes I, too,
wake up to
such a sun and sky
that I’m sure the feelings
can no longer be contained
in this one body
on this one day.
May your day be
precious and exciting
and give you great joy.
May it fulfill a lifelong dream,
and be full of surprises.
May you be open to
surprises just like these.
And if, in the event
that such a place is
more than a little scary –
sometimes I, too,
wake up to such fear
that the world contracts
and barrels toward me
and I can’t find my
way back into it –
May you be open
to exploring your fear,
and may you have
the love and support
that can carry you through
this journey with ease.
May we all live, breathe,
dream and create peace,
and the magical world
we want to live it. – TS

The World of Us

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Even now, we remember where freedom is, from where it cannot be taken away, and so I look in the mirror, and find not only myself, but all of my sisters and brothers, mothers and fathers, daughters and sons. We are all over the globe and we are also infinite. I find each of us standing in all our beautiful time-worn humility, experiences etched on our faces, stories unfurling from our hearts like the thread that is already saving the world. We breathe are beauty and our love, and so the world is made. – TS

The Space Between Us

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There is nothing more
I’d like on this cold and
clouded wintry morning,
than to sit in the warmth
that is only one of the
day’s many blessings,
and lay bare our
stories, through
our silence too,
hands wrapped around
mugs as we watch the
steam rise in the space
between us,
which is no space
at all, and grow
our hearts so big
that they can shelter
everyone in the
world who needs it. – TS

The World is Listening.

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Even when I’m not speaking,
the world listens.
When I try to speak
and the words reverberate
off sun-scorched, jagged peaks,
and sail down to dried up rivers below,
and bounce in the emptiness
of my head that knows
no longer,
the world is listening.
There is no quality of
judgement, the ears,
soft and receptive.
We are finding fault in others,
and deep, deep within,
a gash of torn hopes.
But the world is listening
through our sad cries
and all our lashing out,
and more,
the world is loving,
and has never stopped
loving us.