The scars left over from ancient lineages embedded in both our earthen forms and astral bodies.
A spiritual fatigue waging war against fear and doubt, numbing every expression of love we have to offer.
Many of us want to rest, yet we think we are giving up or giving in.
When can surrender appear to us as sublime beauty dancing on the precipice of
When can embodiment be praised as much as the spirit for carrying those lineages
whose yearning for grace amidst struggle brought them to their knees?
Our surrender can be a gentle one.
Amidst the chaos and the darkness
We can lay down our cross gently
So that each blade of grass caresses
It tenderly, as though wings of angels were kissing