By Liam

These days when the world seems clothed in massivity,

mountain crags holding their ancient silence,

oceans gathering ripples in its blue immensity,

cities lifting high their yellow bright scaffolds,

against the passing dark horizons blue.

This all seems so solid so substantial,

each stone, boulder and rock certain of its gravity,

each object convinced of its reality.

And yet,

when the heart grows still enough to listen,

another music begins beneath the appearance.

This magnitude is not what it claims.

Fields do not flourish by themselves alone,

nor do the stars burn only to adorn the night.

A hidden tenderness moves through all of all,

like light seeping unseen

Through the roots before the blossom.

What we call the world

is often only a beautiful disguise.

Behind every form, is 

a longing.

Behind every longing,

Is a meeting.

Behind every meeting,

love.

And perhaps the greatest secret

carried by river and cloud,

by memory and loss,

is that existence is far less crowded

than we imagine.

For when every name is laid down,

when every distance is crossed,

when every certainty releases its secrets,

there remains only this:

the quiet, radiant presence

that has been waiting inside everything….

love,

the invisible substance

from which the world borrows its shape.