Broken, Like Morning


Even though I woke up early the morning arrived before I did. In the midst of my meditation I felt myself drawn wide, spreading with the morning light as it moved in all directions. I am like this morning, not wanting to remain here. It is in spreading out that I find all that I am, and just as morning never disappears but appears as other than itself as evening, so I, too, seem different. To stay true to who I am I shall embrace this difference, as every moment a new “me” reveals itself to me, and I must struggle constantly to embrace who I am becoming, only to discover, that when I arrive I have already gone. Pablo Neruda once observed, when I write I am not here. When I come back, I am gone. The Spirit must move to survive. Spirit exists in movement. When it comes to rest, it dies.

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