Abundantly Heart My Laughter

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

(8 Feb moon)

open to receive

open to abandon

open to harness

open to birth

open open open

hearts in thousands paragliding all over the sunbeams

how many have I become

become

screening emotions after midnight by sunbeams

. . . sunbeams and a butterfly

how much grand and invisible!

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

`Dedicated to Arab Spring Martyrs

holding the full moon

two martyrs statues

with a torch

{Dear reader, I am back in Lebanon. Did an operation to remove the metal plate and screws - no more bionic woman ;) . I am getting better. Will stay here for couple of months. Get ready for a fresh flow. Much love.}

Monday, January 30, 2012

the higher frequency of creativity

out reaping sound in the field of silence
this dusk, a poet
about to channel Atlantis knowledge

Oneness

innocence
be
in the essence

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Noted (17th of Jan 2012)

Once upon a bright day, my Mrs. X accidentally meet a crippled man. She felt so much empathy towards him that she was him for few moments, feeling all what he felt and feels. Though she continued her daily routine, his shadow was there within her. By that night, she broke her ankle to the extent of necessitating the implant of a metal plate and multiple screws. As if, bridging.
And once upon a brighter day, my Mrs. Y meet the same crippled man. She had so much compassion towards him that she honored the courage he had in him to choose his life path while she reaffirmed her own choice of expanding through joy and perfect health. By that night, brighter stars filled the sky.
Whether to be Mrs. X or Mrs. Y, kindly choose consciously my heart centered reader.

Monday, January 9, 2012

Storytelling (9th of Jan 2012)

Once upon a time, my David, a married man, is enjoying a gathering with mind stimulating flock, discussing whatever under the sun in an artistic sacredness to what is, yet with a sense of humor to what is not. Engaged in every detail, his eyes twinkle while his velvet drink vibrates of spirits whispering stay. With the scented ambience going more intense yet as delicate as ever with its elegance, time getting closer to one after midnight, he makes artificial efforts to pull himself off the gathering for "it is time to go home".
During the ride back, a voice like a moonlight beam, ventures into his dark path and asks "... but what is home?". An undefined sadness tinged with despair seeps into the car to replace his shadow while the question is being replayed over and over. Opera on radio (loud applause) and the clouds seem stuck in traffic.
By the river, he unconsciously stops and shuts everything off ... to listen. What is home. A flowing breath. Open window. Shivering leaves. All that is nurturing the natural rhythm. Authentic Self expansion. He reclaims his ride with a decision.