From Within

Choosing Love with sovereignty, from within, not from without.

The light is coming from you. You can't see it, but everyone else can

(Lang Leav)

There is no bond,

and yet.

I let myself love.

I let myself be loved.

I let myself become

the Beloved.

Not as a vow.

Not as a leash.

Not as a covenant.

Not as a chain

Not as a contract,

forged in fear.

But as a consecrated choice.

A living yes.

As silent permission

to be touched by life

without being taken by it.

I once called distance

freedom.

I once called numbness

peace.

I once believed

that if no one could reach me,

no one could wound me.

That was

the old language

of exile.

But these are new times,

the times for a new language,

that only speaks of love and truth.

Now I remember.

There is another kind of freedom.

The freedom of the inner gate

nsealing.

The freedom of the soul

no longer hiding

from its own light.

I let myself be guided,

by the wisdom that arrives without noise,

the voice beneath voice,

the knowing that does not beg,

to be believed.

I let myself be met

by what is true in me,

not by what is required of me,

not by what the world,

would want me perform.

I let myself be held

by the eternal flame,

the one thart does not bargain

does not accuse,

does not blame,

does not keep scores.

From within, and not from without.

I act now

from my own will.

Not the will that clenches.

Not the will that defends.

Not the will that kneels.

But the will that is clear.

The will that is certain.

The will that moves as water moves.

The river does not need permission

to become itself.

From within, and not from without.

Open.

Free.

Without fear.

Without guilt.

Without the old tribunal

that made breath

something to be earned.

From within, and not from without.

My noble truth does not descend

as judgement.

It rises like something buried,

remembering

it was never dead.

It comes like a river

speaking its first name,

again.

It comes as joy,

without spectacle.

As certainty without violence.

As the quiet return of what has always been mine

beneath the noise,

beneath the bargain,

beneath the long forgetting.

From within, and not from without.

And my Beloved,

this holy presence

I sought in a hundred altars,

in a hundred faces,

in a hundred forms of permissions,

was never absent.

Not when I could not feel it.

Not when I abandoned myself.

Not when I mistook being chosen,

for being known.

Not when I built shrines

from the praise of others

and left the temple within my own chest

in darkness.

Still,

the Beloved

remained.

Still,

the flame

remained.

Still,

the door

remained.

My Beloved is with me.

Always with me.

Even now.

Despite everything.

From within, and not from without.

I feel the magic

that does not end.

The old magic.

The first magic.

The faithful magic

that begins again

each time I consent

to what is real.

Not the magic

of dominion.

Not the magic

of conquest.

Not the magic

that bends life

into obedience.

But the magic

of sacred permission.

The magic

of choosing love

without surrendering

sovereignty.

The magic

of belonging to myself

so wholly

that love becomes offering,

not transaction.

Blessing,

not bargain.

Fire,

not debt.

There is magic

in letting myself

be love,

be loved,

and be the Beloved.

There is magic

in moving

by my own true will,

not in bondage,

not in punishment,

not in penance.

From within, not from without.

If the Beloved has never been absent, who is it that seeks?

Yo lo creo/

I believe, and so it is.

What better than Ayla Shafer's new release

"Within You" to accompany From Within: