[I stood up, and turned on the light. Everything was normal. Just five minutes had passed.
I sat on the bed, and began concentrating on a spot in the wall. I visualized my mother, and felt so much love toward her.
Slowly, I began losing bodily sensations. I concentrated on love. I loved every concept I brought into my mind, including people who I felt had harmed me in someway.
I entered a state of consciousness where everything was “love”. I wanted to ask forgiveness, but there was no such thing as a sin.
I had words that identified myself as Narai, and I was afraid of losing that.
…Who am I? ]
Beautiful
I created you before
I had seen who you were.
I distinguished your skin
from afar, and imagined
the greatest love story ever told.
Walking through velvet streets,
you were.
I ran toward your embrace,
but you were not there,
vanishing in the air.
Who I now thought
was imagination had
made me human.
My skin cried a future
as time washed my tears away.
Running through diamond skies,
you were.
I ran, and kissed your face.
Imagination became real
as time washed the seconds
way letting my heart become you,
my beautiful.
[Why did I feel fear again? It was the purest, strongest, ineffable, and inexpressible love.
I had consciousness, and felt awake. I tried to move. My fear had made me remember I had a body. I had understood that everything that surrounds us is Love.
This what we call life is the process of loving… Of becoming LoVe. ]
Understanding
I reach forgiveness
inventing new ways
of touching your face
as if time was nonexistent,
and I were a gift of love.
I am not who I was,
you are not who you were,
who can blame us
for growing up?
No one, because…
Who remembers we were
all babies that tenderly
gave and cried for love?
There is just understanding
where love inhabits
by being who we are,
not the past, not the future,
but love wishing to be unfold.
[Yet, I still couldn’t love others I as I knew it was possible. I didn’t even felt that love to those I should love the most, my family. Why? Why was showing my love to them the toughest?
Old memories… entering my room. The light was still on. Had it been a dream?
It could have been, many could say… However, what is the difference of my dreams, and my memories when I am remembering them? Aren’t we what we remember we are? Are dreams a part of us? Perhaps, a part we don’t want to admit when we are awake?
Who knows?]