The River

The river runs deep. It pulses through my veins; quiet as a creek; loud as the planes. Stones remind me where I came from, as the outter world-planes and trains and cars- try to call me home. A touch of heaven early on, as we fly, high off the ground, speeding fast on the roads below.

Ash meditate

What about life I ask? What about here and now? Where are we running to? What are we running from?

We have this breath– a quiet moment- if we should so choose. Will this be heaven too? Or will our time come, to share our wisdom, as angel’s of the heavens? Like time travelling people.

Oh how busy it would be, if we were to answer every call. Instead, I plead the Earth to play God, since she is all we know. And patiently I wait, for the rest to unfold.

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