While Watching the Morning Become

I sit down at last.

Chores that I had needed to tend have been tended to. A cup of coffee awaits to be savoured – the  brew as appealing as the curiousness to witness the morning sun. The chilly seeds that I had sown have erupted into thriving plantlings – each have at least five leaves facing the sun.

The house I live in has had no power for the last twelve hours. I call a friend who I seek for support – a woman who will only grow further. Having done all I could do, I rest.

The stories of the earth – its mountains and its waters, each come to me and I become the earth again. The mynahs have descended from the highest trees. They perch on the clothesline singing the sweetest melodies. The winds blow in the trees as the leaves aim to touch the earth and become it. This being one of the last days on the island before going to the city, the heart calls for remembering what is.

I have woken up from a slumber which took me to the horizons of the Divine. If God is love and love is the way, everything stands corrected. Having struggled to see love as the means and the end, questions pour forth themselves – But, when will the spiritual search outdo me? Frustration.

Then, I see the sun opening itself to the world to restore love. It is welcomed. At a time, when there is happiness and sadness together, I let them all be. I write only to seek calmness.

When I write slow, everything slows  down too.

This post was written while witnessing the morning become. A cup of coffee stood as a friendly support. 

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