The Faint Memory of What Once Was.

There was once …

(Every being, every sentient being, somehow remembers it—buried deep, deep in the cells, in the code that directs our movements and direction. It is faint, like a whisper in the middle of the night, faint like the softness of the breeze that caresses the skin. There is the memory of this time that was, when there was no disturbance of the flow of the light, and just the empty wind stirred the surface of the dreaming. No experience was yet so deep and entrenched as to produce anything remotely close to suffering and pain)

There was once, if you remember, no sense of owning or belonging.

There was only the allowing, the floating, the surrendering into that nurturing something that enclosed our senses.

 

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