I walk where silence learns my name,
where maps run out and paths turn flame.
My dreams are sworn to no one’s creed,
my fears lie buried with the seed.

The fall is mine, the blood, the bruise,
the nights that teach me how to choose.
From soil cracked by doubt and ache,
I grow the roots I dare to make.

Alone I rise, alone I bend,
with shadows only I befriend.
Each sleepless hour, each salted tear
tempers the spine that holds me here.

And when the summit meets my gaze,
no borrowed light, no borrowed praise
the sun stands still, my name aflame,
for all I own was earned through flame,
not handed luck nor hollow fame.

“In the net of Indra,
each jewel reflects all other jewels,
and in each reflection
all reflections are contained.

One is all,
all is one.

The one does not obstruct the many,
nor do the many obstruct the one.”

~ Fazang (3rd Patriarch of Huayan Buddhism)

No soul is busy, only blind
to treasures they’ve agreed to leave behind.
Those who care will carve a way
through crowded hours, through night and day.

Time is no prison, no rusted chain
it softens hands that choose to change.
If you matter, they will bend,
reach for seconds, make them spend.

So do not weigh love by idle clocks,
or promises that knock but lock.
The heart that wants you won’t delay
it shows up fully, finds a way.

It gathers moments, small and true,
and makes a home inside of you.

The eye sees only what the mind is prepared to comprehend.
— Henri Bergson

Dreams are necessary to life.❤