SWAY

Sway

It is a dance without a floor,

without a count,

without an audience.

Sway begins where certainty loosens—

in the soft hinge of the hips,

in the quiet agreement between breath and gravity.

One foot remembers the earth

while the other tests the air.

Neither rushes.

Neither insists.

There is no lead,

only listening.

No destination,

only response.

The body leans just enough

to feel the promise of being caught—

by rhythm,

by love,

by God.

Sway is the movement of trust made visible.

The yes that does not speak.

The prayer that rocks instead of kneels.

It is how reeds worship the wind.

How a mother keeps time with a child’s sleep.

How the soul stays upright

while allowing itself to feel.

Sway does not advance.

It abides.

And in that staying,

everything begins.

Can Love Be Understood in Brokenness — Part Two

“The kingdom of God does not come with observation; nor will they say, ‘See here!’ or ‘See there!’ For indeed, the kingdom of God is within you.”
— Luke 17:20–21

There is a truth in these words spoken by Jesus—not only an invitation to walk on higher ground, but a reminder of something already embedded within us. Something essential. Something purposeful. Perhaps it is part of our very design, woven into our spiritual DNA.

What if understanding was never meant to remain metaphorical, but was intended to be lived as an inner compass—crafted by God to guide us toward truth? When we are unaware of that compass, or choose to ignore it because it conflicts with the life we have been living, we may feel resistance. Sometimes that resistance is inherited, unintentionally passed down through generations. Yet even then, it is not impossible to work through—if we are willing.

Reaching deeper into ourselves can be unsettling, especially when what we find does not align with who we have been until now. Change can be challenging. Change requires time. Patience. Trust. Looking within and noticing the fine details of our design sounds simple, but perhaps God never intended it to be rushed or forced.

I believe there is meaning in the parables Jesus left behind—parables that theologians have studied and debated for centuries. But what if the truth is simpler than we think? What if the message is not meant to complicate, but to restore?

What if we were never meant to live in constant stress, but in peace?

Peace does not always arrive because life is pleasing or orderly. It is a state that exists beyond circumstance—a peace that Jesus embodied, and one that other awakened souls throughout history have mastered. It is not passive, nor fragile. It is grounded.

Imagine a flower still in bud. If we become anxious for it to bloom and try to force it open before its time, we are left with scattered petals, not the full expression of what it was meant to become. Nature does not hurry itself. A flower blooms when ready. A river flows toward a greater body of water without resistance. There is no striving—only trust in its design.

Perhaps this is what Jesus meant when He said the kingdom of God lives within us.

When we find our inner place of peace, we are no longer called to force outcomes. We are called to trust. Just as a bud blooms in its own time, so does life unfold. And within that unfolding, meaning reveals itself—not through control, but through alignment.

Can we trust time? Can we trust God?

If the world learned to move with the flow of life rather than against it, we might recognize the flower when it is ready to be picked. And in understanding ourselves this way, our choices would naturally shift. We would begin to experience life as God intended—not fractured, not rushed, but whole.

To master this level of understanding, life can be fulfilling and enriched without force—natural, as it was always meant to be.

Like a flower in its most beautiful form—full of color, fragrance, and purpose.

Can Love Be Understood in Brokenness?

Some paths exist not to be smooth, but to reveal misunderstanding. And misunderstanding, when left unseen, can quietly become disconnection. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it.

Conflict does not always begin where we think it does. Often, it arises from a place much older than the relationship itself—an inner layer that was injured long before another ever walked beside us. These wounds can live hidden, not only from others, but even from ourselves. They shape how we listen, how we react, and how we love.

We can see this reflected in the world around us. Happiness is constantly chased, yet rarely understood. Many of us have learned how to live with discontent, becoming skilled at numbing rather than healing. Discontent, when ignored, does not simply disappear. It can settle into the body, quietly turning into dis-ease—manifesting as pain, illness, or exhaustion. While numbing may temporarily dull the ache, awareness has the potential to reveal what the pain is asking us to understand.

So why are so many of us in conflict—not only within ourselves, but with those who walk closest to us? How do we resolve conflict when change is needed, yet feels impossible? Inner change is rarely easy, especially when we are unaware of what we are protecting or avoiding.

Perhaps we are missing something essential in our understanding of happiness. We often look for it outside of ourselves or in temporary gratification. There are many things to acquire, many experiences to chase, many distractions that promise fulfillment. Yet none of these can truly fill an inner void that was never meant to be filled externally.

Relationships, then, must be held with care. They are not meant to complete us, but to reflect us—to reveal both love and the places still asking for healing. Maybe the world does not need another pursuit, another answer, or another escape. Maybe it needs a deeper willingness to look inward.

Jesus spoke directly to this truth when He said:

“The kingdom of God does not come with observation; nor will they say, ‘See here!’ or ‘See there!’ For indeed, the kingdom of God is within you.”
— Luke 17:20–21

If love is to be understood—even in brokenness—it must begin within.

In knowing yourself, you can then recognize what you’re seeking. Not as perfection, but as awareness. Not as avoidance of pain, but as the courage to meet it. When we look within, we may find that what we have been searching for in others, in circumstances, and in the world, has always been quietly waiting there.

What the Eyes Can Tell

There are words that tell
what at times cannot be made sense of,
sounds formed to touch what has no name

A story too long to tell,
with no beginning or end,
moving without time,
remembered without measure

Some stories are hard to tell,
yet are never forgotten,
they linger beneath the spoken,
resting where memory becomes knowing

For when you come by a story as this,
it does not call for explanation
or ask to be understood

It waits quietly,
until the moment you see it—
for it is one only the Eyes can tell

If I Could Be Read

If I could open myself as if I were pages in a book, I would not ask to be understood through assumption. I would ask to be read. Each word would carry its own weight, telling the story of who I am without apology or defense.

If I could draw myself, there would be no need to explain the lines. They would not blur into someone else’s meaning. The shape would be honest. The colors exact. There would be no room for misunderstanding, because what was placed before the eyes would be what truly exists.

What would the story tell if there were no interpretation, only distinction?

A difference between what I see and what is imagined.

Between what I know and what is projected.

Between how I feel and how it is received.

Perhaps it would tell the truth quietly.

That I am not hidden—I am simply precise.

That my depth is not confusion, but clarity that asks for presence.

That to know me requires attention, not assumption.

And in that telling, the story would not ask to be rewritten.

It would ask only to be witnessed.

My Christmas Dream

I awoke Christmas morning

with songs on my mind,

not of sugar plums dancing

nor reindeer in line.

But something far softer

began rising in me,

wrapping around

like a warm melody.

A voice so familiar—

not a jolly Ho Ho—

no, this one far deeper

than most hearts ever know.

It wasn’t forced,

nor harsh in its tone;

a truth…from before, one

I always had known.

From long ago,

I made one request—

a love only God could see,

where no one would find it

unless it was blessed.

And who better to find it—

who’d surely know, too—

that the love that I carry

is the love God once grew.

I gave it to Him,

trusting one distant day,

He’d send it back gently

in His chosen way.

You see, I hid it so deeply,

That no one else could unwind

the longing I folded

in the quiet of my mind.

A secret petition,

a prayer sealed tight,

a wish wrapped in childhood

and tucked out of sight.

Yet on Christmas morning,

as that voice returned near,

I felt the old whisper

I once asked Him to hear.

And there in the stillness,

I knew it was true—

God never forgot

what my young heart once knew.

MY SONG

How can a song capture the very essence of who you are?

The melody plays softly, and I get lost in the movement it awakens inside me,

as though it is playing within my own body.

When the lyrics follow the music, they tell a story I feel I have lived.

Whatever rises in my mind as it becomes a song, I feel each word

from the perspective of the artist.

Those words came from someone so inspired they poured straight from the heart—

and somehow, they arrive already knowing mine.

Cherished Piece

How do I describe what’s missing?

I quiet the noise all around me, hoping in silence it will surface.

But I hear not a sound, yet I feel a pull, an ache,

as if this empty space could scream it out.

So I keep it company.

I hold it as if it is something so valuable.

God Himself gave me this empty space, saying,

here is where I lie,

here is where you will know the importance of what’s missing.

Hold it,

and know only I will fill the emptiness,

for only I can give you what you cannot put into words,

for such words live only where I place them

for you to know.

So I gently hold this cherished space,

where only God will find it.

My heart will keep it,

and it will stay warm.

Mystery

There is a place within me

where time does not move,

where the soul kneels without effort

and listens for what cannot be spoken.

It is here

your name rises like incense,

not called,

but remembered.

Here, love is not a feeling,

but a language older than breath—

a current the heart recognizes

before the mind wakes.

I do not reach outward.

I simply open.

And in the opening,

something eternal unfolds.

It is the hush of God,

the quiet pulse of destiny,

the echo of a bond

written long before we understood its shape.

This devotion I chose,

and I too am chosen.

It is known

A thread that binds what was scattered,

the fire that burns without consuming,

the mystery that reveals itself

only to those who wait in stillness.

Timeless.

Holy.

A Mystery.

Forever..

And always,

…always True.

SOMEWHERE IN TIME

Somewhere in time,

it continues.

Somewhere in time,

I see you.

Not new—

oh no—

quite the opposite—

Ancient.

I am not alone in this moment.

I sit here with you,

the one who finds me

no matter where time falls.

Wherever it lands,

you are with me there.

I know better now

than to search with my eyes.

I have searched a lifetime—

and lifetimes—

for you.

I have learned how to ease the ache,

yet I know it will always remain.

Not as punishment,

but as a Gift, from God.

And so I wear it as part of who I Am.

Life is filled with lessons, some by receiving,

some are found in what’s missing, trusting

only God is the cure.

So I remain in this stillness.

When it lingers beyond,

I hold myself gently,

as one who understands

what the soul carries.

And I pray—

Without urgency,

but with Trust—

that the wind will find you,

and carry to You

the Truth of your own Desires.

LIFE

Life.

Such a word.

Meant to be lived in so many ways.

That’s why no two are the same.

What I find interesting is when you look back and see so many angles of the road you’ve traveled.

Some highs, other lows, yet always forward.

And when looking back, you see clearly —

with eyes open —

but at times, those same eyes were shut.

Why is this the way life flows?

Why can’t we look ahead, see what we want,

and life simply follows?

Is this a mystery that only I wonder?

Or do others also become aware

of where they are going?

The Concept of Time

How can I even begin

to explain the concept of time?

It does not run

in the direction of the ordinary.

I watch life rush past me—

morning into night,

days into years—

but within my spirit,

time takes a different shape.

It is not ruled

by the hands of a clock,

but by the hands of God.

Should this surprise me?

When God claimed this world

through His creation,

His intentions were never bound

to the limits we see today.

We are of the earth—

yes—

but we are also of Him.

So is it any wonder

that He lives within my heart?

That although I walk this world

as human,

my heart belongs to God?

And if my heart is His,

then it is divine—

carrying love

far too vast

for ordinary understanding.

How could a human heart

ever hold a love

so immeasurable?

Perhaps God placed His own

within us—

so we could.

Is this why love is so precious—

because God touched it first?

And when we are distanced

from a love like that,

it’s no surprise the ache

is felt so deeply.

Could it be the signal

God wove into us—

a holy warning

that something sacred

Is it too far from our hearts?

That the soul recognizes

what the mind tries to explain away,

and pain becomes the language

that says,

“Love belongs closer than this.”

For there is no greater joy

than to live with love found—

close as a breath away.

What does that closeness feel like?

It feels like breath learning its purpose.

Like warmth entering places

you forgot were cold.

It feels like the heart is expanding

without asking permission—

as if love itself

is making room to live.

It feels like knowing

before understanding,

like recognition

without reason.

It feels like silence

that speaks louder

than anything you’ve ever heard.

Like your soul finally sitting

in the seat it was always meant for.

It feels like God

wrote a name inside you

long ago—

and now

you can finally hear it.

Life was never meant to be ordinary—

could this be the outcome

of forgetting Eden?

For we were born

from a place where God walked with us,

where love was language,

and wonder was the air we breathed.

But somewhere along the journey,

we learned smallness.

We learned rules and limits,

fear and forgetting.

We learned to shrink

a divine existence

into something manageable.

Yet the heart remembers

what the mind has buried.

It remembers the garden—

the wholeness, the holiness,

the love that needed no proof.

And every time love draws near,

every time wonder awakens,

every time the soul refuses

to settle for ordinary—

that is Eden

calling us back.

Not to a place,

but to a truth:

We were created

for more.

The Gift of Christmas

It can’t only be the purity of white snow,

as if a winter wonderland alone could carry the weight

of something holy.

Is it found in the eyes of a child,

wide with wonder,

waiting for the man with the white beard

to slip rewards of goodness into a stocking?

Is it hidden in the warmth of tree lights

that glow like tiny memories,

or in the soft melody of Silent Night

that once felt like it healed the whole world?

These things have followed me all my life —

traditions, rituals, colors, songs —

and yet something in me knows

the true gift of Christmas

was never wrapped in any of them.

Somewhere, along the years,

the familiar glow dimmed.

Not gone — just quiet.

As if life became heavier

than twinkling lights could lift.

As if the places where magic once lived

have been rearranged by loss,

by change,

by a heart that has seen too much

and still carries on.

But Christmas…

the real Christmas…

is Love.

Not the decorated kind,

not the packaged kind,

not the performed kind.

It is the love that breathes quietly,

that remembers who we miss,

that aches and hopes at the same time,

that whispers of heaven

in ways the world cannot understand.

So why has the light grown dim?

Maybe because the older we become,

the more we learn that the spirit of Christmas

is not something we feel —

it’s something we open to.

Maybe it isn’t a switch

waiting to be flipped back on.

Perhaps it is a flame,

a love remembered,

a presence missed.

The gift of Christmas is not lost.

It is simply deeper now,

hiding beneath the noiseless places,

waiting for the Heart that has lived,

loved,

broken,

and risen

to notice its quiet glow again.

And when it returns —

as softly as snowfall,

as gently as breath —

you will know.

Because Christmas lives

where love lives.

And love,

no matter how quiet,

never goes dark.

Where Do I Place Myself

Where do I place myself

when I can no longer see

the ordinary in my day?

How do I explain logic

when truth has grown larger

than what ordinary minds

can comprehend?

My language isn’t meant for all—

yet my heart insists

my words are meant

to be heard.

It’s no wonder

I cannot find rest

away from the essence

that found me—

the essence that rooted itself

so deep within

that separation

is no longer possible.

Love…

in its purest form—

the kind that expands

what reality allows,

the kind that transforms

the ordinary

into revelation.

There Must Be Just Cause

for why I know separation—

an ache imprinted deep

into the center of my soul.

For how could one truly taste joy

without enduring distance

from the very essence of it?

And yet, even in separation,

I feel its proximity—

as close as a breath away.

The eyes of love lift my spirit,

pull me toward the heavens within,

and bring me face-to-face

with the mirror of my Soul.

A THANKFUL HEART

How can I express what thankfulness I have within my heart?

Where does it even begin to make sense?

I realize that it never started with all the extra things we collect in this life.

It didn’t begin with the little material things

that we become accustomed to having—

yes, they are nice, and sometimes useful—

but are they truly needed?

Thankfulness must go deeper than what we can hold.

Are we thankful for the day?

For the breath that wakes us again?

For the love that remains even when life changes?

Are we thankful for the upcoming season—

as if each new season guarantees a future—

or for the start of New Years,

when the year ahead is not promised,

only hoped for?

The new year does not arrive because we deserve it.

It arrives because grace allows it.

We enter another year not by achievement,

but by mercy—

a mercy that carried us through

the moments we weren’t sure we would survive,

the challenges we didn’t see coming,

the nights we prayed for morning.

And so thankfulness begins right here,

in the realization that we made it.

That time has allowed us another chance

to love,

to grow,

to believe again.

True gratitude is not reflected in what we own,

but in the miracle

that we are still here

to hope for what comes next.

That is where thankfulness lives—

in the heart that recognizes

another year is not a guarantee…

it is a gift.

I FEEL LOVE

The love I feel from the universe

does not come in words or signs alone.

It arrives as a warmth beneath my ribs,

a quiet presence reminding me

I am held by something larger

than anything I can touch.

It speaks through the wind,

through light,

through the soft knowing

that I am not walking alone.

It is the love that meets me

before thought,

before fear,

before the world names me.

It is God woven into everything—

the pulse of creation

touching the pulse of me.

I Never Asked for More

I never asked for more.

I thought I only prayed

to keep seeing days and nights—

to keep breathing through whatever life became.

I didn’t realize the heart has a direct channel

leading straight into God,

a quiet line I could not hear,

a hidden whisper I did not know belonged to me.

And while I prayed for the precious gift of time,

my heart—without my knowing—

was praying for you.

But what are days meant for

without sharing them?

When the sun rises,

the mind gathers memories to keep—

like fallen treasures,

each one carried with you

through the steps of your day.

And after the sun sets,

what are the moon and the stars for

if not to know their value

with the arms that also cherish

the night?

My Words are Silent

My words are silent now,

for quiet wraps the air—

a hush that feels like heaven’s breath,

a softness everywhere.

I only feel what’s Real,

and only God knows why;

He stirs the truth within me

as the rest drifts softly by.

This path before my feet

is one my heart can understand,

though my mind keeps reaching for

what has not yet been planned.

For explanation hides itself,

a veil I cannot bend—

a mystery God whispered

that my soul must comprehend.

SONG MAKERS—

Blessed are the Song Makers,

for deep within they keep..

the ache that turns to melody,

the tears their chords must Weep.

I feel your quiet sorrow,

as though it once was mine—

a hymn carved out of longing,

still echoing in Time.

The softness of your music

flows lightly through your hand;

a whisper drawn from Heaven

no heart could misunderstand.

And somehow you already

know pieces of my Soul—

far more than eyes have witnessed,

far more than I control.

I need no explanation.

your presence speaks so True.

For in the way I see you,

I feel you see me too.

Cleansing Prayer

The water fell Upon Us,

cleansing away what was not us.

And I’ll give to you the whole of me—

and you’ll feel me like a Song.

Listen closely as I whisper,

gently take me in your Hand.

It is not that I fear you—

no, it’s something softer than that.

You see, you take the Breathe of Me,

so go slow, Beloved…

you’ll know best when to take my Hand

But for now my love, remember—

I feel your heartbeat in my Hand.