Pacificmelody's Blog

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4 Comments

Freedom

As the Universe breathes in
So too do I
For we are One
The surety of it
The knowing
Delights and soothes my soul

This is where I have
Always longed to be
Where I belong
And I am soaring high
So high above the clouds
That hide the sun
And into the blue and
The brilliance
My first experience
Of freedom

I will never return to Earth
Nor obey your rules
And even should my freedom
Turn out to be illusion
Still I have tasted it
And real or no
It makes no difference
For I have thrown off
All my shackles
And live or die I will be free

From out of nowhere
A fire begins inside
That threatens
To consume me
Burn me to ashes and beyond
If such a thing could be

And it occurs to me belatedly
That freedom is an undertaking
Fraught with danger

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5 Comments

Mixed Blessing

space fantasy. starDon’t try and tell me
I’ve not seen ~
The things I’ve seen ~

The splendor and the joy ~
The soul deep Love
Of the Universe ~
And all that it contains ~

Peace beyond telling ~
Always familiar
Though never the same ~

A homecoming
If you will ~
Or a becoming
Of oneself again ~
As all illusions
Fade away ~

All this within my grasp
Then I was torn away ~
Brought back to life
And I was very grateful ~

But part of me yearns
Ever toward the Light ~
The unattained
Destination ~
The object of
My soul’s desire ~

Someday ~


2 Comments

Only an Illusion?

shepherdess-fixd-lgI was noticing a scratch on a piece of furniture when an old memory surfaced. It was of a story I’d read many years ago, written, I believe, by a Unity minister. The details may not be exact but the gist is close enough.

She told of visiting a dear friend who was not easily able to get out. It was a pleasure to come to her home, which always seemed filled with interesting and lovely objects, everything shining with a patina of polish and loving care. And over all, the lady spread her mantle of charm and gracious welcome. Her invitations were sought and prized, and her guests uniformly left her with reluctance – and happy memories.

And it came to pass that the friend died. The minister had been left a small bequest – a painting she had once admired – and on impulse had gone to the home, where she knew the lady’s sister would be sorting through her things. She wanted to visit once more the place of which she had such fond memories.

It came as a surprise to her when she walked in, that the rooms were not at all as she recalled. Everything was shabby and a little worn. The paint was peeling, the upholstery faded. The pretty little shepherdesses and their swains, the lovely china plates, all were revealed in the harsh light to be inexpensive souvenirs. It seems the lady had imbued her modest possessions with the grace and beauty of her inner being, so that everything and everyone around her, became a little finer through being in her company.

As an epitaph, you couldn’t do much better. Fitting words for a life well lived.