In our interior rooms, I would start by sharing some sacred poems maybe….
The interior room of things. Colorful. Composed of data and moments. The beautiful memories we left behind.
Here in the interior rooms, we find the things we left behind. The data of memories and moments.
There is a light that emerges within oneself that is not unlike a growing imagination and the scent of mint and tulips in spring.
Finding that inner flame and pushing forward. I have been hanging around the house today, relaxing and listening to music. As I create this post I am listening to the ambient sounds of Chihei Hatakeyama’s Void IX and Oophoi’s An Aerial View. Tonight is a night of immersing myself into all things formed through sound, smell, art, healing, and stillness. I went online and found a great place to order a small quantity of Tibetan medicinal incense. So I got some for inner and physical healing. It’s quiet here. I wish I could spend more time in this soothing, reflective, and safe environment. Doing art, hanging out with the cats, looking out beyond the woods in the backyard. Haven’t really talked to anyone all day. Here in the interior rooms, it’s amazing how often that happens. Nothing here all day, but the fall of thought.
A reflection of moments in time. Our interior rooms with the persistence of place and memory; beautiful and alarming, from past to present. And from attachment to freedom, we give thanks for the smallest of things such as breath and the endless distance.
In the curated conjecture of thoughts and emotions, the heart seeks refuge only in its own desires.