Michael Rastovich

No God above us,

Nor Devil below.

So I will step in,

To fill in the rut.

I’ll start from the bottom,

And work my way up.

Astonishing how quick the shift when one is mindfull of the moment.

Our outer selves end at our senses. Our inner selves goes on forever.

Outside may be rain and weather. Inside is always warm and dry.

Outside we are at the mercy.
Inside we are the mercy.

Inside the hearth is always lit.
Inside the table is always set.

In every now a choice is made. So many nows I have slept walked through. Now I understand that I need not wait for circumstance to express a kindness. With every now a chance – a choice to set the world a right.

I want to speak to your imagination. Please close your eyes, and open your I Am.

Find the center. Find your root. Find the root that was once a seed. Sit with the full weight of your tree, upon this seed, and listen.

Listen to the words, as they splash against your understanding, and ripple out, to the next word, lapping at your shores.

Listen to this story. A tale of a tree, that lives on an island, in the vast empty sea.

The island had risen to meet the tree, and the tree held the island fast above the waves.

The sea loves the island. The sea loves the tree.

The tree has lived with island for a thousand years. But alas, tree’s life is at end.

The tree, with its very last light, brought forth to its branches a thousand seeds. Then tree and island, slipped back into the sea. Leaving only the seeds, in the shape of a tree, now spreading away on the breeze.

The sea loves the breeze. The sea loves the seeds.

So the sea made itself, quiet and still, until its surface became as untoubled as a mirror.

The seeds now see their own light, reflected by the sea, and see, that they are seen, and see that they are loved.

The seeds come to know the what that is needed, and wake to the dream of their true desire. They speak the dream into the deep, and they are grateful.

The sea hears their wishes and prepares for them a place. A place to touch down. A place to take hold.

And the sea is grateful.

As we feel the sun upon our faces Does the sun also, feel our faces

When we feel the wind upon our cheeks
Does the wind also, feel our cheeks

When we hear the waves a crashing
Do the waves know, that we are listening

Do the stars sense our wonder

Does the storm see us trembling

I suspect that it is so.

Do not make believe
Make it be real
Draw what you desire
A picture is worth
A thousand prayers

We will never run out of weather.

Some people think of me, as a lazy slob.

I think of me, as effortless.