Belly of a Star

my practice of compassion


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Caress me, I called out, like none other before me; the anchoring voice finding refuge in the drifting causations of eternity. Come, and come again, to this place I have prepared, highlighted by your existence. I will find you, I proclaimed, knowing beyond measure, that the endless cycle of All had begun.

You would enter, unexpectedly, through the backdoor of my imaginings, carrying the essence of our love. I would take you, then, like some hungry bird set free amongst the fertile living soil, and devour my own image found in your truth.

Enter again, you did, this trembling child no less mystified than the stars themselves, burst at my death, and showering her light long after.

Had I known you from before, the tears would have ceased to caress my pain and ripened me to the fullness of first sight.

Yet, I knew not, and danced as babe alone, weeping for your grace and imminent light. Come, I called from the depths of the lonely soul asleep, unbroken still by the yoke of shelter, named you.

Come, I screamed, the agony ripping through me as windstorm to sailor’s suit. Torn, tattered, starved of the sea itself, whilst all about the bounty lived.

Had I known, then never would I have come down upon my knee and wished it so. To be what is and what is not and sacrificed for the love of All.

And, yet, had I known, the tenderness in me would have unfolded a million times true, and bled out to the world your forgiveness.

I am because you came and I am not because you came not.

And everywhere I glance, I see your beauty.

Can I not help but to call out more, to reclaim that which is my territory born open? And to remain here ’til the end of days, cherishing the whispers of my heart.

Oh, how I long to be that which is your highest worth. To be that which resonates with the storybook of opening, the essence you first tasted when you spoke my name.

By word, and word alone, I come to you. And by word, in this standing hope, I return your tidings. Can you not see me here, some love-struck bride, emptied of all she is? Filled with the hope of morrows.

Knowing long after my still voice quiets, with the coming of the day of death, I shall remain, elevated in the towers of your light. Some dove come home with garland of green, nested in your glorious goodness.

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