"The human mind
is not a factor..."
- Mary Baker Eddy
What does freedom
look like
when you are
no longer
bound to
your
once-upon-a-time
beliefs
about
your life,
the
worn-out cliches
of someone else's story
about you,
the
fairy tale dreams
you recited
to yourself
- like empty mantras -
from beneath the covers,
long into the
darkness,
when
the world
was fast
asleep...
Can we ever,
is it possible --
for us
to walk
beyond the
chains of
thinking,
wondering,
worrying
if we might
just
be
the
product of
our own
worst
choices,
or
worse yet,
our own
best
thinking?
You are not
the outcome,
the offspring,
the effect
of
someone,
anyone
else's
rejection, neglect
abuse
abandonment...
or even,
their
love
you are
the breath of
Spirit
upon
an aspen leaf,
a drop of
holy water
on the tongue of
a saint,
the whisper of
forgiveness,
the sweetest song
to a mother
who
never meant
to
cause her
child's
tears
true
freedom
is to live
without want,
without
need,
without
feeling
the dull ache
of thinking
there
might just be
something more...
it is
to
live
fully
within the
space of
having all,
in the
Allness
of
our
singular
relationship with Him.
it is
to be at peace
to be at home
to find heaven
in
a
closet,
a sepulchre,
a cell,
a cocoon,
a prayer....
"I
and my Father
are
one."
~ Jesus
"Books
are the quietist,
and most constant
of friends..."
- c.w. eliot
when I
was a girl
my days were filled with
counting the seconds
between
the last line read,
and the
next paragraph
waiting
to be discovered
i lived between the covers of
countless
bindings,
slipped between the
pages of
Dickens
and Bronte,
Little Women
and
Nancy Drew's
yellow roadster
i'd hear the forecast of
rain -- the promise
dark clouds,
a soft drumming,
lamplight midday
and I'd rush through my
chores towards an afternoon
of characters that
leapt off the pages and
into my heart
Jane,
Jo,
Heathcliff,
George and Bess
Hannah Gruen
and always
the inimitable
Madame Defarge
knitting in the corner
while Mr. Darcy
waits
for Emma to
come to her senses on
page 148
my childhood was spent in
places I'd never find on
a map
and friends I'd never
have to tea
I'd weep
when a dark horse
without hope
won her steeplechase
and attend weddings from within
my nest under the
upper bunk
I lived for Saturdays at
the library,
and dreamed in
stacks of books with
spines that
crackle with age
and are perfumed with the
touch of other
hands
with a book
in my hands
on a rainy day,
I am
still
a
girl
"She is
too fond of
books..."
~ Louisa May Alcott
"Pilgrim
on earth,
home and heaven
are
within thee..."
- P. M.
there is
a vast yawning
that opens within us
it pulls us
and claims us
and calls us,
“come home..."
it beckons
"come in..."
where your
teardrops are sacred,
where silence is
golden,
and you are
His own.
slip deeper,
and deeper
beneath all the churning
let deepness engulf
you
let His will be done.
for this is your
country,
your kingdom,
your homeland,
the place where you know
you are never
alone.
yes, there's a vast
yawning,
a chasm within you
an ache,
and a hunger
to know and
be known
“come in
and be silent”
it call from the stillness
come in and
allow Me to
call you My own
there is
a vast yawning,
a depth you
can’t fathom,
a refuge,
a quiet,
a rest,
and
a
home
"come in
and find comfort,
come in and find shelter,
come in
and find peace
in your
heart that's
His
home.
"...stranger,
thou art the guest
of God."
~ Mary Baker Eddy
