Hunting Wabbits to the Hollow.

The sharing of bliss is not done, but it will come in its time.

This time is for something else.  It is the quiet, the still, the pause between times when the world rests, sits, takes a deep breath in preparation for the work ahead.

The work will come soon enough.  It waits at the tips of us, our fingers, noses and tongues, but it will wait just a little bit longer.

For now we rest in the hollow.

It is still here.  Silent.

Space.

The room for all things within us, without us, between us all.  Nothing is held onto here, no preconception, need or desire, expectation or haunt can remain, clinging to us, when we enter the hollow and stay to it.  Despite the pushings and pullings or our normal nature.

It is when the tug-o-war ceases that you know you have arrived.  Visits can be very short or very long, but always they change us.

Transformed.

It is different here, change comes more easily once the commitment to change is forgotten and being, just being, sets in.

So long as you continue to hunt wabbits, the hollow cannot take you.  But hunting wabbits can lead you to the hollow.

The hollow is everywhere.  It is perception and duty and life that keeps us from settling in to it.

It is our own misconceptions that keep us from knowing it.

Our fears lace us into a corset of requirement.  Keep us from knowing the fullness of our Selves.

Sssshhhhhhhh.  Listen quietly.  See softly.

Rest empty.

~Abysmal Witch