Free Flowing Words

In solitude I sit
          so stilled . . . blank,
          yet the hand writes.

Words yet unknown,
          except what will flow
          in between each breath.

          only with gentle stirrings,
          alerting me to aliveness,
          no other.

          just me alone,
          yearning for that other,
          it too unknown.

It is there lurking
          watching as I write,
          one word at a time,
          just letting it flow.

Nothing . . .  yet something
          as ink scrawls across each line,
          no longer looking like my hand,
          foreign . . .

“Who's this?”

          It is I,
          letting you know
          I AM . . . here,
          have been and will be,
          your eyes, your ears,
          that All-knowing.

         Feel My Presence . . . its been awhile.
         We remain connected
          in all and everything we do.
         It will continue because
         you have ME in your heart.

I pause
          to look,
          at these free-flowing words,
          to now read what was given.

          December 2, 2015