There is an artistry to the life we live. The patterns and colors that emerge as a result of our presence here in this space are unique. No two of us the same, yet all of us connected, we weave together the tapestry of this existence. The fabric of each moment carries the design of what we choose to contribute and what we choose to leave behind — spaces forever colored by our presence…long after we have left the room.
How is it this cut flower, detached from its roots, has the capacity to re-grow itself, to expand in a new form, and when it seems to be at the end of its existence is capable of new life?
Resilience.
I keep joy by my bedside
Nestled in shells that sing the song of freedom
And the flickering light of grace in my heart
To remind me that I am love
To remind me that all is love.
Snowflakes are gently falling, wet, heavy, cold. The air is still. Yet, as if aligned with a predetermined path down, they fall, curling and dancing on invisible threads. How beautifully and carefully they weave the fabric of the newly formed blanket of white.
The landscape now changes. Familiar objects and colors fade as I grasp for their memories. Each flake masking more and more of what I know, as more of my roots and my foundation fade.
They blur my vision as they spin and race to weave the blanket. They only create the illusion that what I know is no more.
For when I pause to breathe, I see. These dancing flakes inspire a new kind of looking, as if through a clouded window that needs to be cleared. My breath the cloth that wipes the window clean.
Faith reminds me that I know where I am, who I am, even as all I know disappears under the blanket.
And then, almost as quickly as the storm started, the flurry ends. Almost as quickly as they appeared the flakes melt away.
With this new moment, the sun shines. With this new moment, rays of light now dance on the same threads that wove the blanket.
Once more I am reunited with the familiar. Finding my roots and the landscape just as I had left it – once buried, never lost.
That doesn’t mean we all have to be the same, but we all hear and see each other as the valuable contributions that complete our circle.
Never stop believing in the goodness of others.
I am on the verge,
the verge of wondrous things or perhaps tremendous calamity.
It really makes no difference. The precipice is the same, the grander just the same.
There is beauty in it all,
Grace in it all,
Peace in it all,
Because all is love.
All is love.
