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- Belinda Broughton
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- Virgilio is on a quiet journey...and wondering...
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Category Archives: Intuition
These are uncertain times and the more urgent our need for poets who can see the different shades of gray in a pale early morning winter sky, who can hear birdsongs even in the absence of birds, who can wipe … Continue reading
The backyard, the shadow, the light, dried leaves, the dirt. All are engaged in silence and stillness, in an afternoon of destiny, at the same time, and for a few minutes, I, too, was silent and still, absorbing, internalizing, my … Continue reading
The beautiful clarity of the early morning like a clear brook in ancient times. There is a quiet insistence in this that ties holiness with beauty. Then the yellow light silently and slowly spreads, glittering the leaves that help unfold … Continue reading
The sun is up, scattering pale light, and I sense a stirring in my inner being, a joyful presence of renewal, working, progressing, promising, unrelenting. And it validates an ancient promise written in blood. It is an expression of love that … Continue reading
True love goes deep into the silently flowing river of our being. That is how we are supposed to love, when we go deep, when the river goes up and shows up as tears, tears of inexpressible joy, tears of … Continue reading
There is a quiet voice and a revelation that whispers like a soft blowing wind. My part is just to listen even if I do not understand.
Another cold grey sunday morning. The street is wet because of the melting snow and the rain last night and this early morning. Strange to think that there is a certain kind of eloquent thinness in this landscape that I … Continue reading
There is a certain kind of rightness when the rain pours and flowers bloom. There is gentleness when moonlight quietly slips through a slightly opened window. Everything perfectly connects in the highest order of things. They are deep expressions of … Continue reading
…and I was given the gift of simply knowing. And it is about faith.
On a cold grey winter afternoon, the sun breaks in and spills over its light. It is a revelation without words. It is immaculate. And it matters, like a breath.