Where in this life do we belong?
Beyond the painted faces that mask who we are?
The distant faces that we yearn to know and love?
The houses that no longer hold who we are becoming?
At times we can find refuge in the safe house.
At times we can let our voices drop into the verdant moisture
where the goddess resides among the moist weeds.
At times we might dream and know that we are
one with the great savior.
Even within these aging bodies, there lives a young
man or woman who truly sees us for who we are,
and loves us, though we may be many miles apart.
Look beyond the paint and even the bright colors.
There is a sweet soft face in your mirror and in the
contours of your being that is being held, even as
we speak.
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