love

345: Eyes of the Whole

| Aspergers Girls

I cannot teach any longer. I can only learn by sharing what I am learning. I am a student sharing her heart and nothing more. The vibration of teaching or preaching or telling is no longer me. I am only able to open myself up and pour out what is inside. I can write when I am called to write. I do not choose the topic, at least not at a conscious level. I do not plan what I write, the thoughts come to me, usually, in a giant wave of recognition, with flashes of insight. I usually do not know what I will be typing.

My intention cannot be my own or the healing energy is lost.

For instance, if I have the intention of wanting others to love me, to like my works, to congratulate me or to be inspired, what I write will be at a different energetic level than if I write without self-intention.

I have learned to remove outcome. I do not do this all the time, in all my waking hours, as I am human; yet, I have found a freeing place, within and without, where I am able to not focus on the outcome. I have found a remarkable way to free myself from fear, by not imagining and creating the future I wish.

If behind a thought I am wanting love for self and needing attention, and from this place of want I form my words, then the energy changes.

I am learning to speak as a child, with my intention clear and my voice and words not hiding what I am feeling inside. So often, when we communicate, an energy shift occurs between emotion, thought, and words spoken. I feel this. I feel when someone is speaking from a place of love or from a place of fear. There is no in between.

There is no combination or variants. Love is the only thing that cannot be divided and sliced and mixed into a grey area. Love is love, no matter how small or how large, love remains the same. Love radiates in all directions and heals. Love cannot be diminished or enlarged. Love just is.

Fear, being the bearer of opposites, is really not an opposite at all. Fear is much a façade that takes the forms of many opposites. He steps in and replaces the place where love would be, but he is not the opposite of love, for he doesn’t exist. He is a space filling a space, so to speak, and there are no barriers he cannot divide, except for love.

He tries to divide love time and time again; and thusly, he is much like hatred, anger, trickery, envy, and the darker lot; however he is none of these, because he is nothing. WE can un-layer the emotions of hatred and anger, and other, and find a cause. The cause is always the same. The cause is always a need for love.

Whether it is a need for money, recognition, fame, acknowledgment, union, clarity, or other, it is still a need for love. When there is love nothing else is needed.

Beyond the basic survival elements humans think they need, indeed imagine they need, is the all-life sustaining-force of love. It may sound silly, even odd to profess, but love is all We need.

Energy resonates and builds off of love. Truths are brought to life by love. Truth is willingly transformed by love. Eyes are opened by love. Children are birthed from love. Love is rebirth of rebirth, a transformation of one generation into the next.

What you see is truly what you get, in the arms of love.

In the arms of fear, you get nothing and no one.

You, as individual, are divided and made one, as all fear is in the state of unity divided, as fear is the divider. Once divided, and in what present day may call an ego-state, fear sets in. This fear then multiplies; because although fear is nothing, fear begets fear. Nothing begets nothing; just as love begets love.

WE have a choice to feed the world the end-product of nothing or the end-product of love. This is simple in argument and representation. Choose love.

When one harbors grief and dismay, the beneficial remedy is love. When one harbors disagreement and guilt, the beneficial remedy is love. All emotions are healed through love.

What would be called positive and neutral emotions are healed by love, too. For love does not heal in the sense of taking something that is broken and repairing. Love sees nothing as broken. Love sees everything as already whole. Love cannot help but see only whole. If love stepped in and viewed “broken,” then the intention becomes to ‘repair,’ and thusly, the element that love has set her attention on becomes “broken” in spirit.

The teacher does not look upon a student and think: “broken” I shall fix. The teacher looks upon the student and sees potential in the seed planted before him. The seed shall grow, and thusly shall we all in love’s waters.

There is no fear. In hearing the rhythm of the angels, of nature, of the birds overhead, there is a healing sound. This is because there is no fear. There is a trust born of innate trust. Not fed trust, or given trust, or told trust.

Trust cannot be earned and none can be lead to trust, as there are no leaders, as there are no subordinate ones.

There is no hierarchy in a state of no fear and only love. And there is no state of no fear, as fear does not exist.

Though the call to trust is necessary, but truly resonates only from within soul. There is no avenue, no road, no way, or secret passage.

Those who profess to know, know the least.

It is only the one, or more so the union of ones manifested by illusion of one, which voices disbelief and question in own self, denouncing self and the profiteering of self, that understands.

As money divided, and any truth attached to profiteering, is already circumvented by fear.

Those who give freely are those who give without intention. That is without intention beyond love. Any disruption in this system leads to pain, which is falsehood.

Intention undermined by falsehood leads to the ugliness of falsehood. As falsehood exists, though this falsehood too is underscored by the non-existence of fear.

Remember fear is merely the absence of love.

Take love as a shape, a black cloak, and set this shape to dance in the threshold of your mind. Have this love in form move in the light. The dark of love is still beautiful. The dark of love still whole. All forms of love are whole and complete.

Watch the dark move and the shape of love resonate. And now, with intention to recognize the absence of fear, move love. Create in your vision and perception for the darkness shrouding love to leave. Make love momentarily appear gone. See only where love was. And now trace an outline where love once was. Fill this outline with nothing, just air if you wish, as nothing is unfathomable. Now remove the outline, too, and see the nothingness filling up the space that was love.

That is fear: the emptiness filling up the space that was love.

Behind every intention that is formed with nothing, nothing is birthed. Behind every intention that is formed by love, love is birthed.

Take judgment, a misrepresentation of the absence of love, an illusion brought on by the pressures of wanting to be loved, this judgment taught by the masses to divide and classify and make “sense” of the world that is seen through the “senses.” Remove judgment, and the illusion of fear is seen. The aspect of love forgotten, conditions set forth to divide, and the movement of fluid love to conditional need.

Where there is need, there is outcome projected. Where there is outcome projected, there is need. Where there is outcome projected, there is false intention, where focus is on the future as wished, and not on the present of love.

If talking to one, who is WE merely represented by one, and another “one” questions with the intention of love, healing emerges from the depths, and intention born of love heals.

When “one” speaks to “one” for what would be called “self-motives” than love is lost. Not gone, but lost, waiting outside the shape of love to be called back.

“Self” temporarily removes love. Love appears erased but love is merely momentarily missing.

Love cannot be brought back by a calling or a wish, love comes of its own making, without intention. When one wishes upon love there is self-intention, and love escapes. The only way love answers is with the mystery of self without self. This is to say once “self” evokes love, love vanishes into the areas of unseen. Love remains, but disappears from our limited senses.

Love cannot exist in this realm for self and self alone. Love exists for We.

This is to say that to wish for a self-love, before wishing for whole-love, is backwards and reverse. To love self is essential, if one is viewed as self, and whole was divided as multiple selves. Yet this is a truism that can breed dismay or great pleasure. But always the two extremes.

For self does not exist in stagnant form to be fed by self-love. We can only feed that which is not divided. Love is not divided, nor does love recognize the divided. Love recognizes union without self-intention.
To claim self-love is to live in a state of familiar let down and continued questioning. To release self-love is essential. Self-love cannot be grown or transformed or reflected, because there exists no self. To love: the whole must be loved. The intention of love for the whole.

When “one” seen as “one” concentrates on the whole of what could be called goodness, on the picture of what could be, and what shall be for all, then love comes. One must see the whole picture, and in this is the wholeness.

None are to be singled out and made above or beyond, and in self-created love, which is a form of falsehood, then love is divided by intention.

To love, love from the perspective of whole: Whole loving whole.

What is good for the whole is good for the whole. We are not regulating you to love a whole so as singular you will benefit, as there is no you. You cannot be divided, as the tree cannot be divided by parts. You are WE and we is whole.

Once we claim separation, we are no longer in the comforting arms of love. This is not to say you are not unique and special. Each is unique and special as each is part of the whole. But the whole cannot be divided.

“I” cannot take an apple red and start to chunk out pieces with a carving knife and scatter the chunks and misshaped parts across a board, and claim this is “he” and this is “she,” and this is “him” and this is “her,” and look how special and grand each of these parts exists. This is an apple portioned into parts. “I” cannot determine the chunk that makes a complete piece of the whole. I cannot form a chunk that beneficially represents the whole.

No matter the size the shape or the division, “I” cannot equally divide an apple. And thusly WE cannot equally divide what is our whole into one form which is claimed you. For there is no way to determine, or more so recreate, that which is already divinely whole.

The world is a reflection onto self, but yet this self does not exist.

Imagine the apple piece looking up at self and wondering where to find whole. This is what self does. Self hammers away at chunk and multiplies division, thusly evacuating love once more.

Self need do nothing but recognize the absence of self and love enters. With the absence of self, giving becomes obsolete. As self is transformed into whole, and whole is love, and love gives without effort and intention.

Giving is no longer a verb but a noun. For giving equals love and love equals giving.

It is in the giving of self that love is birthed and rebirthed: Giving up the illusion of self.

This is not to indicate service. Giving of self has often been misinterpreted in the form of giving self. “One” can best “give” when self-intention is removed, and the self-intention is removed when self is removed. In this case self can vanish and truth can enter, truth of love and love of truth.

There is no doctrine that proclaims love, and love only, unless in doing so there is no division. When intention or division enters, love is removed. To honor the love, remove the intention and divisions.

Truth exists, but self must be removed to find the truth. And then as WE, truth is neither found or lost. Truth simply is.

Truth is love and love is truth. They are the same in one. There is no truth beyond love. There is no love beyond truth. This is where the universe ends and the elements are born, in the birthing place of love and truth. But truth cannot be found with self and self alone.

Truth seekers seek to know self first, but in truth they are searching to know whole, and whole is only temporarily masked by the illusion of self. So truth seekers, love seekers true, are in effect searching for truth in the whole, while masked in illusion.

Some will find the whole and others will be swallowed in self. The difference is clear. Look for intention without the use of sight. Feel the vibration of the words and the energy of the truth seeker. You can feel intention. You, as the perceived separated one, can feel intention, and this is either the heartbeat of love or the illusion of fear.

Remember fear begets fear which is nothing. Love begets love which is something.

What is the fruit of this apple tree, they say often, and this is to mean: Is love surrounding and growing or is fear illuminating from the space of nothing?

If fear is ringing louder than truth then illusion is present. If love rings alone, then love is present.
There is no other degrees of love. “One” cannot find a mixture, or to say a little bit of love with a lot of fear or a lot of fear with a little love.

There is either love behind intention or no love. And this will be felt as love, if serving the whole. If serving the self, the intention is a falsehood: a form or emotion, represented by the illusion of fear. You will know this well by the vibration and energy.

Choose love of whole and the vibration will heal the world. The whole is the answer and you are already this whole.

If the nothingness of fear is ringing than love is absent. Though truth and love are twins, they vary in their representation, when the illusion of nothing is heard. Love cannot change; love cannot alter; love cannot be silenced; but truth, in the ring of fear can be changed.

This is important to remember: Truth is silenced in the ring of fear.

Listen with that which is beyond senses and the love will be clear. Ask what the whole can do to love the whole and you, as perceived one, will have answers. Monitor the intention of one, and lead with the eyes of the whole.

~ Samantha Craft, 3-21-13
(This was written in one sitting this evening. I wrote what I heard, and was simply the observer of what I sensed and experienced. This is neither my truth nor my untruth. It simply is.)

341: The Mourning

| Aspergers Girls

I haven’t been able to write as of late.

I transitioned through immense amounts last year, especially during the month of November, transitioned through what I hesitate to call “junk,” but that which most certainly felt akin to garbage.

It was rumored, through various channels, that the end of last year would be a period of much availability for release. The key was to freely bring up the past and old aches, to tear open the scars, dig deep, and like magic, much would be healed.

Truth be told, and truth I often tell, this aforementioned rumor was mostly true. In fact, repeatedly I brought up to the surface my unfinished “business,” and repeatedly the thoughts, emotions, body-history, and spiritual “business” rectified itself and was reborn into sudden and freeing understanding, acceptance and forgiveness.

Interestingly, there was little analysis I undertook during this process. In explanation, I offer a contrast: instead of opening a book of an event or events and feeding myself the pages, unlike a reader, or even an observer, in my process of recovery of self, the experience was liken to watching some other part of something open a symbolic window to let the lingering pain in; and within that same instance of the opening, some force beckoned a sweeper, an unexplainable substance, that now entering the space of self, scoured away to dissolve unneeded residue.

A dear friend calls some people “sandpaper” friends. They refine us. They grate on us. In a certain bowing of spirit, we allow them to hurt us. But in the end, we come out better for the experience.

Well with the window open, and the sweeper entering, I felt the sandpaper. I felt the needling rough edges pry open my skin, go asunder, and dig up the muck and guck that had lived and harbored within. I felt the intensity; I felt extreme discomfort. I felt exposed. I felt found, singled-out, even hunted. And then, I gradually felt slaughtered and left to die. Until, in the swirling of sensation, that came rather abruptly and all at once, I was cleansed and left lighter.

Through this all there was no effort on my part. I didn’t try to heal myself. I didn’t even want to heal myself. What I prayed for was love. That and to be a vessel for spirit and light.

This is what I went through most of the winter season. One day after the next of windows opening, and then finding myself in the midst of both trouble and rescue. Until at last, after months on end, I begged for reprieve, for break, and opportunity for rest.

And rest came.

But soon following was a time period of vultures, of name calling, of doubting who I was and my own path. Then with the passing of these trials, after I’d faced more inner frailties and demons, I found a profound inner peace and knowing. I had a clarity and a comfort. I felt blanketed by the divine. I was granted an unbridled passion to create and communicate. And each morning, I experienced intense visions which included powerful visuals, healing words, and much beauty. This too, this rapture of passion coupled with the visions, like the sandpaper and vulture times, became daunting, and I begged too for these to stop. And they did.

Soon the window closed to whatever was entering.

And here I have sat in silence for over a week wondering what my next step is; while all the while I hear a distant whispering of “There is no next step.” A whisper reminding me everything is okay and is occurring in divine timing.

I think I am mourning what I thought I’d found. I think I am mourning this profound peace and understanding I had for several weeks—a traveling period where I saw heart-clouds in the sky and angel shapes everywhere I looked. A time of deep prophetic prose and agonizing, sweet-release through creation. I remember asking for this profoundness to stop, to give me reprieve, but I don’t think I ever thought the experience would truly end.

Yet, as I sit here now, I don’t wish it back; as much as I miss this part of where I have been and the connection I had, I am glad the window has shut. For it is time for me to move along my path further. A time of new mysteries and discoveries, and a time of further refining. I guess what is somewhat discomforting is I know I have made a spiritual vow of learning. I have made this life about growing, despite the personal cost. I have dedicated myself to being the best me I can be. And with this dedication, I understand there is no stagnant place. And there is no final place either. There is just this continued traveling to a new something and new someone.

I think I have been mourning the past selves. The ones who thought they found themselves. The ones who thought they knew so much. I am mourning the possibility of ever knowing again. As there is no knowing, and there is no finding this self I so diligently had searched and longed for. I am here. In all my states, in all my emotions, in all my frailties and fallings, I am here. And this acceptance of self, in all stages and all phases, past, present, and future, is perhaps the most frightening feeling of all. The learning I am enough. I am love. I am light. I am home. Whilst still traveling this road that eventually leads somewhere else.

Sam Craft, March 2013

Beautiful One
I love you. I don’t know why or how. I just do.
You are immeasurably good, immeasurably pure, immeasurably wonderful.
I want to wrap myself in your essence, to bathe in your beauty.
I want to pour my soul into you, my every thought, experience, desire and dream.
I want to harbor my pain there, within your secret chamber.
If only there were a door.
If only I could find a key.
If only you would open.
Instead, I glide past your existence daily; hour upon hour, building my hopes atop the other like a child with wooden blocks, thinking eventually something will tumble, something will crash.
But nothing ever does.
You remain, and I remain.
And I am left dancing around the image that I imagine you to be.
Standing in a threshold, I both created and wished into existence.
And here, in this imagined place outside of you, I have found the enterance to self.
In this endless delight of searching out the possibilities of you, I have found the remarkable possibility of me.
My friend, my entwined beautiful one, in the wanting of your glorious being, I am.
I am. I am.
And I smile from the deepest place of happy soul child.
Smile as I swing upon the healing rainbow of you.
Still searching for the treasure beyond the imaginary door.
Yet, knowing when you are found, when you have at last welcomed me forward, that I will fall in love not with one, not with two, but with the illumination birthed from the reunion of beauty.

338: You Are The Block

| Aspergers Girls

Today I participated in being present.
I got in my van and drove where I felt drawn to go.
I found myself on the waterfront by the boat docks, and walked lightly along the pathway.
I felt grounded into the earth and protected, and very much loved.
I noticed the sky and all the sounds about me. I noticed many things that I hadn’t noticed before.
The sun paid a visit and peeked out from the clouds, and I was invited by this lovely block structure to lean and take in the sunlight on my face.
I closed my eyes and just let myself be.

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I thanked the block art.
I have always admired people who could be still and with themselves and find a gentle resonating connection to the earth and with their inner being.
Today I was one of those connecters.

I walked past a building that invited me in. And there I greeted a flyer about a movement class. I kept the paper and will reflect on the opportunity.

As I traveled back to my van, I practiced letting go of thoughts and took in many sounds and sensations.
When I was on the road again, I drove past a small bakery.
I treated myself to lunch there, the most sensational lunch.
I savored every bite with awareness and pleasure. The fork tickled me. The sautéed mushroom, bread, and egg saluted me. I found myself giggling inside at the images in the food. I found myself giving repeated thanks and gratitude.
I soaked in the goodness, and as I had done before, I kept repeating the words “Love, love, love.”

I was continually brought back to the present. Every movement and ever feeling inside of my body felt magical.

The world looks different now.
Wherein sensory stimuli could sometimes overwhelm me, now I am intrigued by all of the motion of the world.
As I ate, I smiled at the homeless man outside the window. I watched him eat on the bench. He had much food. I imagined we were eating together. When he was finished, and approached where I sat, a glass pane separating us, we locked eyes and smiled together.
We’d eaten together in my heart.

I took over a half of an hour to eat one sandwich. I wondered why I always ate so fast before, when every bite was an opportunity for acceptance and gratitude.
I listened to the sound of people and watched them move. I took in the pitch of voices and the color of clothes. With every thought I released all judgment.
I felt tremendous joy of being alive, and gave thanks for the ability to appreciate the moment and my life.
When I moved from my chair, I did so with gentle intention. No anxiety was in my psyche or my physical being. Everything about me radiated serenity.
A bakery worker moved towards me to collect my plate. We shared a sentence and our eyes smiled. I felt such warmth and human connection.

When I drove again, if any sorrow arose, manifested by an ache in my heart and gut, I imagined the sorrow, the shape of the sorrow. To me, the sorrow appeared a twisted colorless ribbon. I let the sorrow rise and then I held the sorrow.
When I held the sorrow, sorrow evaporated.
Each time the sorrow rose, I let the deep ache come to me.
I felt the intensity of suffering. I felt the tears of my soul, and then, through awareness and acceptance, I held the pain once more, and once more again.

Today I was happy despite my sorrow. Today I was sorrow-filled despite my happiness. And neither was the winner.
Moment after moment I returned back to the present, leaving the sorrow and happiness to the space of emptiness.
I see neither sorrow or happiness as my partner or friend, and neither as my foe.
I accept where I am at and let the river of peace flow through me.

I do not stand in judgment of myself, and with this freedom I do not stand in judgment of my passing neighbor.
I do not stand in judgment of my passing neighbor, and with this freedom I do not stand in judgment of my self.

I planned nothing. I thought not of the future, nor did I linger long in the past. I just was. I just am.

If ever there was joy to be found immeasurably, it was in the simplicity of my being.

Now as I sit here, I feel embraced.
I know not why or how or from where this love comes; I release; I release the source and I release the cause.
Nothing matters, while everything matters.

Today I am thankful, not for anything or anyone, not for a singular experience or emotion; today I am thankful because I recognize that with the release of attachment, I am at last releasing self into the ocean of life. I am a bird swimming in the blue. I am a fish flying through the sky. All is a reflection, one upon the other.
And everywhere I look is beauty.

I am looking at you now. Beautiful one. Special one. Dear one. Lovely lovely light-filled soul.
I am looking at you, and you are all.
You are the sunshine in my face. You are the sensation of pleasure dripping off of my fork. You are the homeless man smiling with his eyes. You are the earth smiling with your heart.
You are everything to me, as I am to you.
And I accept your love and grace.
I accept you just as you are right now. Just right where you are.
You are divinely perfect.
You are the block.
You are the art in the park.
The place where one can rest and lean and soak in the goodness of the world.
Thank you.

Photo on 3-7-13 at 3.47 PM

335: I Whisper Death

| Aspergers Girls

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I Whisper Death
3/4/13 Samantha Craft

Beneath the forest floor, where roots meet and entangle, I wait, my hands stretched out in the shape of destiny, each limb bent in the design of fate. My face shines there, in the bleeding darkness, the soil rich, the harvest collected thusly so and set down at the imagined feet of one.

Like dusk blending with dawn, the daylight hours disappear, and time spreads thin, one hour yielding to the next, and falling faster than the dying star. For death himself is here, beneath this earth, where this child rests her heart, a loving seed for one.

And near this death moves life, effervescent in her appearance, her gown golden-weaved in delight.

Though death be near, his shadow thick, his breath heavy, life—she dances in a play, a widowed partner pleading for Mercy to bring her mate. And how life sings, her voice the holes of flutes, both carrying and holding the beauty that comes with creation. She bows, her hands echoes’ shadow, her arches the very threshold of his coming.

In an instant she is here and then gone, and then returns again, a spinning image of self, reappearing with the turn of merry-go-round; lost and then found; lost and then found again. Unattainable she remains, her platform chance, her shape fortune.

Please come, I call out from below, my chariot less driven than wished upon. Please come, I call out again, the pleading heard by the chambers of my soul.

Though my voice be nothing in comparison to life, in all she offers.

I am but invisible, hidden like the worms that burrow forward to the core of something.

My voice unheard, my face unseen, I cry out and then cry in, calling on the very goddesses of fairytales past in hope of capturing the heart of one.

He doesn’t come. He doesn’t hear.

And if he does, if by chance my wishes scurried across the broken channels of connections, and voice he found, then voice alone is turned down and dissolved by his wanting naught.

Unfound, I weep.

Unfound, I turn.

And thusly I wander in the deepening depths of feverish want.

In dreams I ride the cloak of death, draped in his darkness, the sorrow and suffering removed. And there, from my own tombstone risen, fine seedling is spat forth.

To bloom again and touch the daylight with green.

For if it be death that must come, then death I call upon, to release me from this bitter-thorned suffering.

Cometh death to my bedside of garden. Unlike the soldier before, find me, your shadow seed, your princess, your warrior made choice breed.

I whisper. I whisper.

I whisper death.

Death rises, without desire. He drifts in with the victorious gait of one who knows defeat by scent and scent alone. And takes me from the grip of forbidden grounds, and shapes me down deeper, trumpeting his mark into me, a brander by trade.

And I am slaughtered, a sow made sweeter for the taking. Bled out to be made ready for sup and fed upon, one mouth upon the other. Until all parts vanquished, I am free. Spread verily thin, a rail to a speck.

How thankful then I be, the sum of my parts scattered and forgotten.

How thankful then I be, for the agony released.

Until I hear his name.

The one I claimed mine. The one I called, whom before never came.

Until I hear him call out to me, his lost maiden found.

Until I watch his search, this one, for my mystery. His dreams taking him not to me but to the essence of whom I might have been: the sun per chance, or at least the rays, the warmth captured by his tawny skin and creasing edges.

And a part remembers, from somewhere lost, that I am no longer here. A part remembers that instead I be a flower in disguise, reformed and taken by another. Burst out of the darkness to reclaim the sky, yet in the same making hopelessly hidden.

While in solid form he stands in promise, searching the fields for what was once true, when all about lost memory dances with death.

And life, she gently laughs then, her voice cascading through twin-windowed souls, bringing forth the blistering wake of nevermore.

326: The Soul of You

| Aspergers Girls

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Blackened I am by the course of you running through my veins; your amber-scarlet blood penetrating the thoughts of who I am, when I know naught whom you be.

You move through me with energy of perfection, detangling me from my dream-state and honoring me with passion, unyielding and buried beneath the mysteries of this world.

I shake at the thought of you; your face deliberately erased; your motions scouring my insides; I glance upon your presence and feel lessened, my inherent goodness screaming to be seen beneath the brilliant shadow of your light.

Hold me I would beg, if holding would suffice, but you are no less man than me, a wisp of brilliance let out of lover’s door to set upon my soul-fed night; suffering I am, in the ring of fire you proclaim, suffocating to swallow, to breathe in a substance so divine.

I am not enough to know you, a dullness without touch. Nor am I enough to breathe you, my mouth agape wishing blindly.

I am suffocated by the wrath I be; myself the chariot charging and bludgeoning the hallowed spaces of soul, plowing the fields for none but you.

Though still you set upon me, young bird upon perch, nibbling at the feathers of your wings, singing into an immeasurable emptiness that need be me.

My own self betrays, wrapping itself layer upon layer in a clear film of un-discovery, for I want to be as the charming one, the one beneath the garden day, where you are made to sweep upon me golden petals for bedding.

For I am but one, in this whirlpool of music, confused trembling fawn, searching for your substance, laden with this sundering that enters time and time again.

Inside flame, I am burdened with deliberate desire, when all about door upon door be shut, the doorways blocked, the treasure hidden.

How does one harbor this grand symphony of sound, when one’s own eyes cannot harness your immeasurable form?

Is this your music, your warmth, your blood that swims within, or am I merely a collaboration of symbolic fluid, the essence pouring through as echos past?

Or am I more? This ghost herself, circulating through the soul of you.

Samantha Craft, February 2013