To be separate is to carry the echo of a trillion years of oneness,
a breathless pause between what was and what will always be.
You, a thread pulled gently from eternity, trembling, distinct,
standing alone in the vastness of now, so that love might see itself.
The clouds know. Their fleeting shapes whisper
of a home where all forms exist at once,
but they break apart, dissolve,
so you might lift your eyes and marvel.
This ache, this longing, is not a wound but a gift,
a sacred space where the divine remembers itself
through the dance of you and I,
this and that, here and there.
Only in the ache can the beauty of the embrace be known.
Only in the separation can love breathe,
rise like a tide, and whisper,
“This is what it means to be awake.”