“In the net of Indra,
each jewel reflects all other jewels,
and in each reflection
all reflections are contained.
One is all,
all is one.
The one does not obstruct the many,
nor do the many obstruct the one.”
~ Fazang (3rd Patriarch of Huayan Buddhism)
No soul is busy, only blind
to treasures they’ve agreed to leave behind.
Those who care will carve a way
through crowded hours, through night and day.
Time is no prison, no rusted chain
it softens hands that choose to change.
If you matter, they will bend,
reach for seconds, make them spend.
So do not weigh love by idle clocks,
or promises that knock but lock.
The heart that wants you won’t delay
it shows up fully, finds a way.
It gathers moments, small and true,
and makes a home inside of you.
The eye sees only what the mind is prepared to comprehend.
— Henri Bergson
they watch, they wait, they hunger for the day
i falter, fracture, turn and stray
their eyes are hawks, their hopes are snares
set quietly in whispered prayers
yet i move on through wind and rain
with steady breath and tempered pain
each step i take, a muted drum
a promise kept: i will not come undone
their murmurs strike, then fall away
like brittle glass along my way
for silence taught my heart to stand
and patience carved me into land
i rise, i build with scarred resolve
no need to shout, no need to prove
my will is deep, my roots extend
where waiting eyes can never bend
so let them linger, let them ache
for cracks they swear i’ll someday make
i breathe the wide, unguarded sky
they watch, and watch… and i walk by.
🤣
You deserve the light,the patient glow
that warms the places you outgrow,
a love that roots you deep and sure
and teaches fragile things to endure.
You carry magic, small and bright,
in passing laughs, in borrowed light,
in ordinary moments where
joy learns how to grow its wings in air.
Hope still hums in the hush of night,
a gentle force, a steady might,
it lifts your heart without a sound
and reminds you,you are safe, you’re found.
Good things are coming, soft but true,
they’ve always known the way to you,
the universe, in quiet art,
leans toward a generous, open heart.
So let the world lay beauty down,
turn weary dusk to dawn’s renown,
hold your soul,no need to brace or cope,
you were made for love, for magic, for hope.
There are rooms in her that no one sees
a kitchen warm with wordless heat,
a bedroom where old sorrows breathe,
a bathroom full of dull retreat,
each hallway holds a swallowed prayer,
each corner keeps a truth unseen,
a house of storms and starlit air,
of hidden locks and quiet dreams.
Some men arrive with velvet keys,
with gentle hands, with patient light,
they listen close, they do not seize,
they earn the welcome of the night.
And some come loud with iron pride,
with hammers swung like love is war
they crack the walls from the outside,
then wonder why she shuts the door.
But she is not a place to own,
a name to stamp, a claim to prove
she is a wildfire left alone,
she is a tide that will not move.
Her doors swing wide by her command,
not force, not fear, not borrowed plans
her map, her rules, her sacred land,
the key still shining in her hands.
