Wednesday, June 19

Unsent Letters

I'm dreaming of the South of France and Northern Italy.
I'm dreaming of hopping flights to end up in scenes right out of my mind movie.
I'm dreaming.
I'm breathing.

I'm living in between worlds that have gone
And worlds that are coming.
I'm seeing.
You.

Sometimes it feels like a wormhole of some kind had swallowed me and then has spit me back out. That's when I realize I wasn't here but now I am. It's a strange feeling, to go for days and days and wake up one morning feeling like...oh hey, I'm here. Where have I been? Maybe we all travel through time and space and universes as unseen parts of ourselves take on missions that are greater than our little minds can understand. So we feel partially here and partially somewhere that our conscious minds don't understand. And when these missionary parts of ourselves return, we feel like our whole selves again. Perhaps?

I'm going to stop promising I'll stay in touch with everyone I keep promising I'll stay in touch with. I've decided that those hearts that are meant to be on my path and in my life will be there whether or not my commitments to earthly commitments and lifetime priorities make it evident how in love with them I will always be. I'm available. I'm not available. I'm available. To take and not take your call. A friend asked why I committed to write three books in one year. I don't know really, but the responses I get and the changes I see in those that take in those words that come through...I'm here to give all I can give so a ready mind and heart can fly to the center-less sun of our creative existence. What happened to our sense of connectedness before phones and the internet anyway?

Let's live in those times where we knew that we just knew how loved we were regardless of the number of words and voices and gifts that reached our eyes and hands and mouths. Love is all that is real, whether or not we succeed in showing up when we were and are supposed to show up. I'm always showing up. Just not in the forms you're used to or expect me to. I never leave the heart or the sides of the pieces of my self that show up as loved one's. But I have things to accomplish, minds to crack open, and hearts to fuel into the love of a great big something that we all think is nothing. That's what has my undivided attention more so than any forms of social and conditioned obligations. I wonder what kind of mother I'm going to be. Someday. A great one, I'll decide that right now too.

This is the letter I'll never send, the sentiment I won't put to words and send to particular eyes. There, I'll just be leaving it with...I'm sorry, I love you, I'll do better...next time.

Now back to our regularly scheduled hallucinations.

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