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No title Prose
In every moment I am touched by such sweetness. I am gifted with
passion and reverence
I am lifted by natures flightless wings...as though I were just
a part of her spirit
I am free in thoughts of wind and rain and the silence therein
Each time I inhale..I smell that which millions before me have
smelled
I am therefore just a piece of what was once before
And I am just a wish of what is to come
In my eyes is a soul reaping the rewards of constant motion with
joy, rapture, and pain
Each life I lead I fall deeper in love
With that which is and was and what will always be a part of the
collective
I am that which one has created and that which one actually is
I am love
© 1999, Stephanie Tungpalan
Another prose
I say I am happy and in truth I am, and then a notion passes before
me and my focus strays
Is it mankinds plight to follow that which stirs within his soul
or to remain contented only?
Oftentimes it seems that it is that which possesses us but for
a moment in time that gives us our creative abilities.
Sometimes that which makes us happy also makes us restless, still
or even stagnant.
It is the excitement we seek. Happiness grounds us, helps plant
the seeds.
It is the momentary fixation upon something new that creates that
passion within us to seek beyond the confines of convention
Like animals we often seem, we live , we love ,we leave, only
to return again to that which is comfortable.
There is fear in following ones passions in order to seek or meet
a need.
Fear is the building block for what makes us want to breathe and
dream and go into undefinable passion.
It is the limits of happiness that often suffocates.
So is there mystery within repetition and restlessness?
Can there be passion in that which seeks to strangulate the soul?
© 1999, Stephanie Tungpalan
