When someone I love passes, makes a  transition to non-form, I feel a portal open.  I honor the sacred time.

I listen, receive.  

These words of T.S. Eliot in Four Quartets – Little Gidding, comfort me.

And what the dead had no speech for, when living,

They can tell you, being dead: the communication

Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.

“Tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.”

What vibrates now?    

2 thoughts on “Reflecting

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