Written By The Floacist
It's funny how we await the things that we can gift ourselves.
Sitting at times, placed on a shelf of our own creation.
Where did this longing come from?
Arrangements made to reunite on this Earth voyage?
It's almost as if I remember the conversations,
But the co-ordinates and dates escaped me.
That could possibly be the route of the frustration,
That once raised it head with every attempt of external validation
And I was saddened,
As I didn't receive what I believed I was attempting to give.
Attempting to live with far too much expectation in my heart
The Mother pushed me from the nest to allow me to restart
And on the way down a realization occurred
As survival channelled instinct through my fear of hitting the ground.
Opened winged, I began to soar, tracing my shadow far below me.
Enlightenment.
I am the being that will never ever leave me.
Healing indeed, as my heart finds a rhythm that is soothing
Seek and ye shall find, if what is sought is meant for finding.
Grounding.
Humbling.
Foundational.
Truth.
Ashe'...xx
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