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Before the invention
   of thoughts
   we sang ourselves
   to sleep.
   The day melted back
   into humming,
   the humming into silence,
   silence into a breath
   of the Beloved.
   Of course the stars
   were not yet born,
   and the moon was still
   inside you.
   Lay your head
   on my shoulder now.
   Listen with all
   your heart,
   and I will tell you nothing.

Thankyou Fred La Motte…..beautifull .

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