As
a small child, thoughts would wholly appear.
I loved the way I felt with thought, a feeling of home, as inward mother
nurturing me. There were no words for sharing it. No one ever named it in my
presence. So I said it to myself without words, opening a deeper place. Nothing
about life attracted me more. In some unexplained way, I
sensed there were others. And irrationally, in me, I desired to know their
whereabouts. I became devoted to find their presence. That sweet inward secret
whispered within me, was unraveling my sense of separation, artfully . . .
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