found between the lines
I decline all offers to live in a house of reasons and proofs
I refuse to live a moment without the faith of doubt
I reject staying in a box of absolute truths
I deny my own dogged-dogma of black and white knowledge
I challenge myself continually to keep letting go of what I know for sure
I intentionally say no to my own sense of pride and privilege
I humbly confess my own lack of humble speech
I gratefully open myself to the vast newness of each day
I necessarily choose to rely on God rather than myself
I stand on the foundational stone of believing life is always for me even when I can’t see it
I embrace change, understanding its value, even when it’s a struggle and feels difficult for me
I bow on the shores of the ocean of goodness and pain as find my place among all the grains of sand
I sit in the most comfy seat of miraculous realization:
I am a drop of the ocean – I am the ocean in a drop
I stand on the circle of the earth and speak to the wind and the fire, the stars and the dirt
I am water – I flow
I am earth – I grow
I am that I am that I am that I am
abundance in every breath
ashes to ashes
dust to dust
I rise
I fall
I live
I die
I love
I love
I follow the light
I follow the light
❤️
Amy Lloyd
VOCATION
When I discovered
the emerald in my chest
I gave up every profession,
all wealth, adventure, fame,
just to follow the humblest
vocation: I became
a Jewel Polisher.
Keep moving the soft
old cloth of breathing
over the precious gemstone
lodged deeper inside you
than your name, your hope,
your story, until
you know beyond thought
and confusion
that the meadow, the forest,
the mountain in its
wreathe of clouds,
even the Beloved’s face,
are simply one
edgeless brilliant
reflection
of your heart.
❤️
– Fred LaMotte
Be with me, Beauty, for the fire is dying;
My dog and I are old, too old for roving.
Man, whose young passion sets the spindrift flying,
Is soon too lame to march, too cold for loving.
I take the book and gather to the fire,
Turning old yellow leaves; minute by minute
The clock ticks to my heart. A withered wire,
Moves a thiun ghost of music in the spinet.
I cannot sail your seas, I cannot wander
Your cornland, nor your hill-land, nor your valleys
Ever again, nore share the battle yonder
Where the young knight the broken squadron rallies.
Only stay quiet while my mind remembers
The beauty of fire from the beauty of embers.
Beauty, have pity! for the strong have power,
The rich their wealth, the beautiful their grace,
Summer of man its sunlight and its flower.
Spring-time of man, all April in a face.
Only, as in the jostling in the Strand,
Where the mob thrusts, or loiters, or is loud,
The beggar with the saucer in his hand
Asks only a penny from the passing crowd,
So, from this glittering world with all its fashion,
Its fire, and play of men, its stir, its march,
Let me have wisdom, Beauty, wisdom and passion,
Bread to the soul, rain when the summers parch.
Give me but these, and though the darkness close
Even the night will blossom as the rose.
🌹
On Growing Old by John Masefield
Magic is all around you, even within you, don’t be afraid to let it show.
Watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places.
– Roald Dahl
Believe in magic and you will find it. Discover the magic within yourself and share it with the world. It will celebrate with you 🌈
⁃ Calvin Chou
life: acoustic & amplified 