The scene: a stream lit with the warm edge of a harvest day, topples over a smooth stone and pours into itself. We are that edge, where motion vanishes, and the viewer’s fiery heartbeat pauses over an empty space within.
Painful and Glorious.
A hawk breathes the summer sky in which it soars, as myriad expressions of being, explode in infinite directions. Wild wind and cries of joy wrap each dive into life. All the while, below, Love shakes and shimmers upon the water even as the stream murmurs of loss and cradles each drop of itself in stillness.
“O’ paradox, where shall we find rest?” Your emerald eyes ask of mine. Place your hand with me. Vision leads us, like the pull of tree toppling in empty space, going with the flow, cascading into our Real Self.