In every star I was you, masquerading as a particle now an atom, now turned plain earth, now turned diamond, now turned flesh.
My two sons bloom in soaring strength, wise trampler of obstacles and ever-youthful general of the armies divine.
My wife, mother of all, is both love unleashed fiercely on the temporality of the world, uncompromising in protection and justice, as well as love like a gentle balm, whose tender care heals unanimous. She is instant rectification, searing righteousness, the purest motherly love and the wisdom of the crone.
We are everywhere and in all things, and simultaneously, without contradiction, sit on the mountain top, waiting for you, waiting for the love of your attention consciously given.
If still you ask, what am I, know you question thus while I dream you out, your whole life, with all the seeming fractures of possibility therein, a mind moment for me, a thought, a bubble, the smallest, sweetest drop of dew on a flower-tip at dawn.
Great to see you writing! Your words, a lyrical symphony!