A recluse living in the Rocky Mountains with his dog, Shawnee, White Feather tells stories that lead us back to the primal joy of our existence. His philosophical and metaphysical essays push the envelope of our perspectives while grounding us to the feelings that connect us with our source. With insight and feeling, White Feather shares his journey through the shift in consciousness the world is going through, compelling us to look at our own journey. To discuss White Feather's writings and other philosophical and metaphysical subjects with others, visit White Feather Forum.
Sunday, April 25, 2004
Ramble #3
by White Feather
There are so many different levels of fun. Like the strings of a harp, we pluck our way through the octaves of existence. There is a harmony that is created and followed. We follow the music like breadcrumbs out of the forest. The music leads us home but it also colors our experience of the forest.
Love is that melody we hear when when we touch that part of ourselves that creates the music. We might consider ourselves dancers at times, but we dance to a music created by the totality of our being. We are the strings of the harp but we are also the fingers that pluck the strings. But most importantly, we are the music.
Copyright © 2004, by White Feather. All Rights Reserved.
There are so many different levels of fun. Like the strings of a harp, we pluck our way through the octaves of existence. There is a harmony that is created and followed. We follow the music like breadcrumbs out of the forest. The music leads us home but it also colors our experience of the forest.
Love is that melody we hear when when we touch that part of ourselves that creates the music. We might consider ourselves dancers at times, but we dance to a music created by the totality of our being. We are the strings of the harp but we are also the fingers that pluck the strings. But most importantly, we are the music.
Copyright © 2004, by White Feather. All Rights Reserved.
