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Musings of a tightrope walker...
In healing ourselves
We are healing others
In getting healed
We’re becoming healers
In healing others
We’re healing ourselves
Some sort of silence
Some sort of waiting
Thunder in the distance
Flares of lightning
Some sort of strength
Some sort of apathy
Reality... is it what we see... is it what we believe... is it true?
Why is your reality not mine, and why is my reality not same as yours?
Why are there many answers to one question?
Why not only one, the right one?
Long way home
I am glad I’m home.
The streets were long, long, long,
No snow no wind, no rain.
The streets were free and the drive was smooth
The trees looked cold, all of them and
Many of them had a bird at their top branches
It made me wish to sit as a black bird, in poise
The tip of the top branch underneath of my feet
Up there, above the tallest tree
The view and the peace…
Just for a fragment of time
The feeling must be… thoughtless power of now…
Two wings would spread open then to sail
The air above winter colors of browns and bluish grays in many ways
But yellow is standing out
The willows, all the willows are yellow
I took it all in and brought it with me
The endless carpet of street with the cars in front of the window
It’s rolled up as a film behind my eyes
The heavy truck that blew the soft snow at the side into mini twisters
Without wind just for the monster truck
The sleepy snowflakes danced pirouette after pirouette
We left for gas and for coffee
The donuts were greasy and the coffee was hot
But good and I’m glad I am home.