Morning 7/22/17

Finding the perfect place to be still.

I wake and find this world still here and I
within it. How strange it is to be something
rather than nothing. This strangeness is
normal. To not be would be stranger still
or would it be merely a different way of
existence. Matter changes forms and cannot
be destroyed. Can consciousness change
forms as well? Is all consciousness part of
a larger pool of thought that guides all paths
of existence? This living and breathing reality
and we are mere cells within it.

Beneathe the tree you fell asleep in the early
summer afternoon. Mother found you and
woke you. It was time to go back to the house.
Father was coming home and would want to
eat with all his family. You walked with her
back to the house and looked across the vast
green fields dotted with trees and scored by
the sounds of birds and rustling leaves. There
would be a delicious warm meal waiting at
the table. You wondered if she had made
the fresh biscuits you were always fond of.
Father was on the porch when the two of you
arrived and you hugged him. He held you as
tightly as the sun and moon revolve in their
orbit. Love. That's what that hug felt like.
It is a feeling that will always be with you.
It is a feeling that will always define part
of what you will seek. How perfect that
meal was that afternoon. Things would not
always be that way but that memory would
be eternal and good and pure. That can never
be taken. Such is the currency of the soul.