windthread

to just let it Be.  to let go of all (as is possible) desire to Change what is.  To simply turn my face to Presence (of E. Tolle).   During the night,  still, is Metta.  During day Light,  Presence.  

an uneven day….overcast,  cloud bursts,  Thunder,  breaking suddenly to brilliant Light,  more Thunder,  but Brilliant Sun.  Back and forth.  Unusual cloud formations.  The uneasiness of allowing Presense.  Answering the phone and realizing that i don't want to talk about any of it,  explain anything,  anymore, to anyone.    So sitting on the futon couch,  looking off and feeling the Presense of that,  i wander into a place of wondering what it would feel like if "someone" came who i didn't need to say anything to.  What would that be Like? And i stayed with that question,  just staying with the question and breathing and staying with that question and i saw Self going to the gate,  unhooking it and in came the Magician.   I'll try to describe.  I KNOW her to be the Magician…even though she is there(here) but not…a kind of mirage is the best way maybe to explain it,  fluid,  made of light and particles that give form but not form in the way i sense mySelf to be form. She is not fixed.  She sits next to me,  in one of the Janet Chairs under the Old Apricot tree.  I don't look into her face because, really,  there is no face,  there are flickering features that change,  flow together and then not.  We simply sit.  we do not "communicate" with sound, ie words.  Just being.  and i think,  Presence.  We are.  Tree is.  Birds are.  Tay is.  Janet Chair.  Wind.  Sun.  No Sun.   But too,  there is the energetic form  that she is…she wears layers of cloth  that i don't even want to describe because i don't want to say it aloud  (in print) because it would reduce it to something less than the amazement of it….so…textiles.  She wears layers of textiles,  touch and color,  weight and no weight.  There is that "hat".  Her hair is coiled into and of the hat and it's "ornaments"…and the tiny things that hover over it.  I don't look directly at them. There are sounds to her as she moves,  as she adjusts her energetic form on the chair,  they are almost NOT sounds,  but sounds…sometimes a very light tinkling like the sound of those old fashioned glass wind chimes we used to be able to buy at the dime store,  sometimes a very light and bright clicking like an insect would make,  a whir.  moments of hums…of different frequencies.  All these very hard to hear.  I have to be very still and attentive.  She is what she is,  but knows full well what i am.  Knows full well that this is a new and difficult time for me.  She simply sits with me.

The Magician.  She is a figment of Cloth,  but can come Out of it

WIND re~arranged the Cloth Line