I am drifting away like a feather on the wings of air. I feel like a bubble floating around.
Not touching, not changing anything I let things happen. Whatever might come I endure. Nothing reaches me for I am there for the end of times
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There are times when I'd like to send away the boat and the soul who's rowing it. Impatience grows within to let go hold of all that's around me - but being impatient bounces me back to the boat and I start pulling the oars again. If only I could learn how to discharge all that's palpable. I have been waiting for the call but now I feel it won't come until I obtain patience not to wait for it. Dispassion to accept that the calling will not come upon my want. Until that calling - I take delight in watching the full yellow of sunshine on the autumn leaves against the turqouise sky, inhaling the scent of mushrooms.... Enjoying me being me... Does it sound so idle and self-posessed?
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