There is a magical storm here at Shambhala, New Zealand. The roads are blocked to and from for at least a few days, perhaps a week. It’s showering down. Within our house there is warmth, there is love and there is a delicious silence. We had veg korma, rice and pancakes for brekky. I ran naked through the rain and through the rain forest to get the laundry. The ocean is showing signs of greatness again with giant waves and passionate breakwater. The Shambhala rain is washing everything away. Everything that was. Everything that will be. We’ve lost our future. The past is also gone. We’ve given up on hope, because apparently reality happens to be much better. I look over and see a half eaten chocolate pancake. Yum. Downstairs Disha bathes. The fires burn. The rain pours down. I will visit the meditation hall later today and sit silently and perhaps light a fire and listen to it crackle into the night. There is no one around but us for miles. Romantic. Silent. Delightful. Intimate. In the background, the mystic’s music dances eloquently. In the foreground, the lovers love tenderly. In the earths ground, seeds are planted, seeds are growing, flower is flowering. Hari Om Tat Sat
Shambhala Storm
There is a magical storm here at Shambhala, New Zealand. The roads are blocked to and from for at least a few days, perhaps a week. It’s showering down. Within our house there is warmth, there is love and there is a delicious silence. We had veg korma, rice and pancakes for brekky. I ran naked through the rain and through the rain forest to get the laundry. The ocean is showing signs of greatness again with giant waves and passionate breakwater. The Shambhala rain is washing everything away. Everything that was. Everything that will be. We’ve lost our future. The past is also gone. We’ve given up on hope, because apparently reality happens to be much better. I look over and see a half eaten chocolate pancake. Yum. Downstairs Disha bathes. The fires burn. The rain pours down. I will visit the meditation hall later today and sit silently and perhaps light a fire and listen to it crackle into the night. There is no one around but us for miles. Romantic. Silent. Delightful. Intimate. In the background, the mystic’s music dances eloquently. In the foreground, the lovers love tenderly. In the earths ground, seeds are planted, seeds are growing, flower is flowering. Hari Om Tat Sat Comments are closed.
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Author ~ God DieuxCanadian Spiritual Author, Mystic Poet, Spiritual Guide, Singer, Songwriter, Artist, Photographer, Filmmaker, Visionary Archives
September 2022
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