Sweet Whispers.

[Guest guest]

When we say: This world. A miasma of Chinese whispers

suddenly take to the sky to flock into being. A world

whispers back to you its collective deception. It is easy to be

bewitched by such whispers of mortality.

This way of seeing, arises when we forget that the thread of

our prayer mat, contains the world alone. That, which we

weave with one suture, colors the whole weft. Such visions

whisper back a distracted tapestry of the seen, unless we

find a sweeter voice to hear.

You and I, are like two young women learning that the same

handsome lover wants to woo them, at the same time and

place. We both start looking for something to wear, that will

distinguish us, one from the other. When really it is our

virginity He wants not our outer garments.

The heart of All you are, whispers sweetly: Come play with

me here, at the center of our being. Lay down this way, and

leave the world to spin its tales for a while. Here we can sew

the quilt of the universe with My fiber. See how it is drawn

from you, as the silken thread of my cocooning

love.................

God has placed Her mouth next to your heart, and that

heart also in the ear of every listener. Fall in love redolently

with that sibilant voice, and whisper your sweet nothings

there. Whisper until you cannot tell who whispers what to

whom. That voice will be your loves answer.

This love. Sometimes it feels like a heavy thing. A heaviness

of God. We do not always need to fly. (Love is a mantle laid

within me too momentous to resist. Sometimes this love is a

weight that pulls me so inward, that I am crushed like a

wine grape in its press). Love extracts only what it needs to

become you. The rest, it pulps into fiction.

If you have been circling around this campfire looking for a

way to get warm without becoming the flame itself, you

have been listening to the night birds, as they carry snow to

Africa. They are only echoes of a love that never left you.

Heeding such rumors, makes a distraction of yourself in the

world. Come warm yourself in the mouth of the fire, and let

it whisper the name of your real lover.

A sweet heart must be crushed if you wish to drink from it.

There is no other way. It is not a painful way this heart

whispering. The heaviness lasts only until you let go of what

you carry to it. You must dare to be intimate with love. If

you have no secrets to tell it, it cannot be your secret.

Look to the haven of this present shore. Your life is not a

coincidence, but the fabric of this moment. A murmur you

place in the heart of God. Return your engagement ring to

the hand of the Beloved, and whisper a marriage vow.

>From this sweet whispering, love shall flourish in the

world. Whatever you see, shall be found in that flowering.

Accept the pain of this longing,

as a thirsty desert accepts rain.

Do not try to be anything

but this free falling love.

Sometimes, the heart,

is a tear drop

searching for an eye

to cry in.

Every now and then,

when a river becomes tasteless,

or its soul too dried up to move on of its own.

It will come to the waterfall,

and say:

Catch me when I die.

love

eric.

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All works and compositions found on the page submitted by

ErcAshfrd (AT) aol (DOT) com Are the Copyright of E. J. Ashford.

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