Author: randisita

Potential.

Featured by randisita, posted in For English

On a journey through our galaxy and beyond it,

I saw myself in the form of light.

So tall I appeared.

And so surprisingly other than what my human mind could have dreamed up.

A design of unfathomable beauty and intelligence.

Like an oval Mandala composed by points of light.

Trillions of lights.

Each of them radiating like pure diamonds forming multidimensional patterns.

Pattern dancing within an egg-shaped, yet translucent frame.

Always moving, always changing.

Playfully twinkling and turning, seamlessly appearing from ever new angels, creating new constellations.

A vibrant, living, symphony of frequency.

Never a fixed something, but dynamic as ever.

I saw, that what I am, is potential.

Potential because of the potency inherent.

I see, that what you and I are, is raw potential.

I see and I bow.

Thank you.

Through The One all things come into being.

by randisita, posted in For English

Through The One all things come into being.

Not one thing comes into being except through The One.

The One;

“I create matter, in such a fashion, that its nature is empty. This is so that you human, when identifying with matter, experiences such profound emptiness, that you, in your anguish, will search relentlessly,  until you find your source.

But to find Source, you have to develop an organ of exceptional sensitivity to the subtle.

Explore with the innocence and imagination of a child, how this can be done.

Begin by a determined yet soft, always deepening,

listening, to the stillness in all things.

This will, in time, have all but Source fall away.”

I;

“When I close my eyes and touch the inside of my palm, with my fingers,

it is you, who is touching me.

Not one thing comes into being, except through You.

When my breath deepens and intensify,

You are the movement behind the air, that finds its way, down to my lungs and back out, through my parted lips.

Not one thing comes into being except through You.

Through You all things come into being.”

Listen

by randisita, posted in Poetry of Practice

LISTEN

When I really listen
There is a stop.
A complete absence of thought.
As if the hole world and everything in
It, has vanished.
Gone.

Ever so gently
I fall into softness.
And keep falling
Through realms of silky softness.
Love is the movement.
Listening deep

Is the how.

Please listen.

Pearls of joy.

by randisita, posted in Poetry of Practice

 

Being in your presence

is like experiencing an expanded version of myself.

You put into words, what I somehow know already, but do not understand and certainty do not live.

It is joyful to me.

Your words seems to flow from the Source of all things created.

And the intimacy!

When you look into my eyes and speak those words!

It is as if we are moving as one.

And the sense of profound Meaning!

It feels like The Meaning of life itself has taken form

in the shape of your words.

I am grateful.

I am joyful.

Your words is like pearls on a string.

Pearls of joy.

And Meaning is the string, holding them together.

Tiniest molecules of water, air and sunlight

are what your pearls are made out of.

To my taktile senses

your pearls have such substance.

Yet they are so delicate.

Delicacy tingles throughout all of my bodies

as a festival of recognition.

Thank you

to your 

Pearls of joy.

Un conditional Love

by randisita, posted in Poetry of Practice

Me; “I never expected you to love me.

Less so, that you would love me unconditionally.

I didn’t, in my wildest imagination,

not for one second,

believe that you would show up.

For me!

Yet, here you are.

Your face!

Your eyes!

Your body!

Are you made out of light?

You glow!

And these waves of honey sweet love?

Is this how you love me?

You love me!”

You;

“You knew that I would show up.

You called for me and you meant it.

Whenever anyone calls for me,

and mean it,

I will come.

That was not an empty promise.”

Me;

“I am sorry.

Truly.

Forgive me, but I don´t have the gift of trust or intellect.

I think that I was just playing.

You know, when a child plays a game, secretly wishing it is real.

When I was my mothers and my fathers child,

I called out from love.

They did not respond.

It was as if, the warmth of life itself,

was not there.

They must have forgotten about you.

It confused me.

Then I called for you.

Out of love.

I called for you.

Not knowing what I did.

A spontaneous and selfish act, of a, not fully grown human being.

I use to wonder;

How is it possible to love,

when one,

have not been loved oneself?

Before you came,

I didn’t know.

I knew the word and I thought, that I knew the feeling.”

You;

“Ahh! The unloved ones.

You are everywhere,

but especially here.

Looking for what you think, you have lost.

Feeling ashamed.

Trying to hide from the world and from me.

Mostly hiding from yourself.

Thinking you are the lost ones.

The ache in your hearts,

The cold in your bones,

And the hunger in your belly,

will not leave you alone,

until you have found,

what you are looking for.

You think you special.

I am not saying this to be cruel.

I am cruelty itself.

And don´t think,

that it is compassion,

disguised as hate.

Hate, is when the abitur of perception, is closed.

I am compassion.

You have wondered,

how it is possible,

to love,

when you have not been loved.

Allow me; “Would love, look for itself?”