A story of the Soul

She sat under the apple tree. Blossom falling like soft kisses. The promise of fruit. She was alone but never alone. Her every breath was counted. Every hair treasured. The brush of a feeling running through her was felt by her other. There were no barriers to this love. She was the beloved and the lover of her soul was Divine. Unseen. Everywhere and inside of her all at once. A mystery and yet so obvious that most missed it. They felt its truth in her ease. She was held.

With a love like this she was home. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go. She was the centre and out of her flowed a living breeze, as sweet as the apple blossom. Prayer was like breathing. Her and her beloved were one. Her needs was felt before she had uttered a word.

They call it enlightenment, she smiled. They make it sound hard. One day the door of her mind just opened and she laughed that what she had been searching for all of her life was already here. Closer than her skin. There really was nowhere to go and nothing to do. Just lie under the apple blossom and let it kiss her skin.

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