Nourished by the sun.
Refreshed by the rain.
Cradled by the moon.
Lifted by the stars.
Watched over by the animals.
Fed by the earth.
Made resilient in being human.
Unlike any,
Connected to all.
Grateful for this artwork generously shared and created by Susan Kerr.
Crying to get in.
Clawing at the gap.
More urgency to break in than to break free.
Searching.
Pleading.
Prying.
Seeking.
Not every doorway mine to open.
Not every threshold mine to cross.
Regrets are the shadows of the past.
The future draped in hopes and worries.
Coherence is found now.
I can no more be in or out of love
than I can be in or out of my body,
or my breath.
Love is not something temporary,
to be chased,
or clung to.
Love is the essence of freedom,
self expression, and connection.
Love is a state of being
that allows all else to exist.
Reflecting your sparkle,
Your joy,
Your light.
Reflecting your goodness,
Grace,
Humility,
Kindness,
And love,
Until you cannot help
but to absorb
the characteristics you think you see in me
As what they really are,
Simply awakened parts of you.
Replacing reaction with reflection.
Grounded in lightness.
Free to expand.
Confident in choice.
Clear in direction.
Comfort in stillness.
Peace in the quiet.
Steady in heart.
Safe in this breath.
Tomorrow is not promised.
Align and open to the greatest gifts of today.
Open to your strengths.
Hold your wounds and weaknesses as reminders.
If you can remember these, you can remember you are something more.
You are something so much more.
Not chasing answers
but curiously asking questions.
Fleeting, bubbles of inquiry,
floating, popping, landing
with different degrees of impact.
Wonder and awe ignited.
Delight inspired.
Freedom found
when instead of chasing results,
I am open to receiving conclusions freely.
I am not broken.
Although, perhaps to some I may appear that way.
When I sit in stillness, in the quiet of my own heart, it is clear that I may be chipped.
I may be cracked.
Parts of me may be loose or wobbly,
but there is such a profound beauty
in all of the scars and markings of this worn and tired being,
that I can only imagine
if I were completely broken
I would be even more beautiful.
The sky parts,
inviting me closer,
calling me towards something,
no path,
no plan,
to go nowhere
or everywhere.
Just go…
be free.
Is the freedom in the flying or the landing?
Going away or coming home?
Is freedom in the movement,
or the stillness,
in the belonging,
or the aloneness,
in the surrender,
or the embrace?
Freedom is not achieved.
It is a quality of mind.
Could it be that I am afraid to truly be free?
