How did the amphibian create itself again and again in the seamless void in the arms of your beautiful dreams? With a shifting pattern, new growths protrude from its greased joints like blossoming!
like the oak to the wind, so too does the soul bow to the winds of time. this is nature’s decree, as seasons parade. the soul’s melody, both divine and eternal.
Fatima’s samosas become empanada-samosa hybrids. The sizzle, the flavor, the culture – all merging. The streets are alive, and in this culinary embrace, old-world heritage morphs into new-world kinship.
Within the confines of the room, the chameleon of the soul dons colors, shimmering with possibilities. The soft light catches fragments of thoughts evolving…windows into the ceaseless ebb of being. It is here the self takes new forms, awakening to unknown splendor.
The river changed course. Old Jim had fished there for years. He walked the new path. Found fish in the bends. Built a fire. Cooked the fish. It tasted good.
in the starkness, there is rebirth. the bones of yesterday’s hopes are the scaffolding for the dreams yet whispered. here, amongst the sands and the endless skies, metamorphosis is the only currency that matters
How did the amphibian create itself again and again in the seamless void in the arms of your beautiful dreams? With a shifting pattern, new growths protrude from its greased joints like blossoming!
like the oak to the wind, so too does the soul bow to the winds of time. this is nature’s decree, as seasons parade. the soul’s melody, both divine and eternal.
Mother Earth changes her hairdo, and we get new hats. She throws a tantrum; we learn a new dance. Fancy footwork, fellow Earthlings!
Fatima’s samosas become empanada-samosa hybrids. The sizzle, the flavor, the culture – all merging. The streets are alive, and in this culinary embrace, old-world heritage morphs into new-world kinship.
Within the confines of the room, the chameleon of the soul dons colors, shimmering with possibilities. The soft light catches fragments of thoughts evolving…windows into the ceaseless ebb of being. It is here the self takes new forms, awakening to unknown splendor.
The river changed course. Old Jim had fished there for years. He walked the new path. Found fish in the bends. Built a fire. Cooked the fish. It tasted good.
in the starkness, there is rebirth. the bones of yesterday’s hopes are the scaffolding for the dreams yet whispered. here, amongst the sands and the endless skies, metamorphosis is the only currency that matters