I Can Touch You Across Any Space

 

Where limitation is impossible . . .

Eyes don't succomb to the tyranny of distancing . . . they have the soul to thank for their sight. They look beyond the borders of our own indifference and then . . . they cross over. They reach into another person to find their soul, to hold hands and dance, to share and smile, and nothing can keep them apart.

Agendas can limit the body and the number of hugs that we receive with arms and belly's, but they cannot stop the hugs and holding that our eyes give. Everywhere we look, we can grasp an opportunity to hug someone with our soul, and if they can receive it . . . they will look our way and return it. 

I can touch you across space and time.

I can speak to your inner sanctuary where you have placed your soul for safe keeping, for the deserts in the world and the fires, seek to burn and char. You can speak to my inner sanctuary, where I await your touch . . . loving and learning. 

I take the time to still my outer world and bring it into obeyance, where the noise and humdrum of normalcy and ignorance are stilled behind closed doors, and I breathe. Candles give off a soft light and I feel warmed. I know that this is where I can reach for you, where the eyes of my soul can find their way without hindrance, to where you are in the crowd. 

Your body is far away in terms of space,

Your mind is far away in terms of time,

But your soul is here with me and we can speak.

In this  - our sanctum - there is neither time nor space.

We can converse without the secret ears and the prying eyes, without the language of deception and the words of mal-intent, and I can whisper the eternal sounds.

And I would whisper that it is time to seek the sanctum as often as you are able amidst your chores and duties. To return to the gentle light of the whispered knowledge, and to remember this as you walk in the worlds of man. For it is in this state that the hurricanes, carved by others, remain outside as they gather to them . . . those that are like minded.

As the winds of the hurricane turn and bring turmoil and others seek to hold onto the piano, caught in the updraft and seemingly going in the right direction, you are in the centre.

Held by your soul . . . and mine . . .

And all the others.

In the stillness where all is quiet.

There is good reason why others won't meet my eyes, as they look away not able to endure their own shame. They hide from me - their future - for it is linked to their past and they do not want to be seen . . 

. . . For fear of condemnation - the kind that they have used within themselves. 

. . . For fear of judgment - the kind they have used upon others.

. . . For fear of being seen - a self-worth built upon the sands of time.

. . . For fear of the future - in doubt and not knowing who they are.

All of that matters only, when we are caught up in the winds of change .

In the centre of the storm where change is silent . . . there is only the soul.

A single moment that can be extended into eternity outside of time and space, and held by a knowing that change is upon us . . .

. . . but we do not have to be ripped apart and blown away by it.

[pexels-Image by myicahel-tamburini-1554740]