Wednesday Wish (124); Imagine

photo via themetapicture.com

She imagined.

She imagined one morning without saying a word

A life she wanted.

A life she only dreamt of before

And without fanfare or even a snap of fingers,

It all fell into place.

She imagined.

As she woke, the sun rushed to greet her, tickling her cheeks with warmth

As she bathed, the water could hardly wait to kiss her skin, to lick her clean.

As she put on her make-up and brushed her hair, she treated her body with love and care.

And she smiled.

At the love.

How had she had forgotten?

She imagined.

As she ate breakfast, her food did everything it could to nourish her beautiful body.

As she said goodbye to her family, she looked into their eyes and they into hers and she recognized the pure love that they all were.

As she drove to work, the trees and flowers waved good morning, and when she rolled down her windows even the birds said hello.

And she smiled

Knowing the world was a good and kind place.

How had she had forgotten?

She imagined.

As she walked into work, everyone was happy to see her and she, too, was happy to see each of them.

As she listened to her boss raise his voice, she saw him as the little boy that he really was, just trying to be heard, to be taken seriously, to be loved.

As she heard people talking in the hallway about the news--the atrocities of war and the pains and ills of so many--she visualized health, healing, and the uglies replaced with beauty.

And suddenly that’s all there was,

Beauty.

Everywhere.

How had she forgotten?

To imagine what she wanted, into being.

*          *          *

Imagination is always there. And the door to the literal world of our dreams is always open. Why then, do we choose to ignore it? Why do we choose a path without the kindness and magic of our imaginations? Who taught us that a realist brain, a realist world was somehow more desirable or more respectable than an imaginative one? Why did we give that gift we once held in our hands (and still hold in our hearts) away?

Did you forget? Did you forget how you felt on Christmas morning when you still believed in Santa Claus? Can you remember that joy, that excitement, that faith in the magic of life? Because it’s still there, waiting to be plucked, invited back into your life like an old and dear friend. And you know something? It needs you just as much as you need it. 

So how? How do you open back up to a world filled with imagine, a life made of dreams and not stark blacks and whites? 

You imagine.

Imagine one morning without saying a word

A life you want.

A life you only dreamt of before

And without fanfare or even a snap of fingers,

Imagine it all falling into place.

Because it will. Imagine it enough ... and it will.

Wednesday Wish (123); Brave

photo by robert van den baar via googleimages

He looked sad. But I didn’t focus on that, I looked past that, to a place he thought he hid, didn’t know he wore. And there, I saw his dream. His oldest dream, the one that kept him up at night, that kept him feeling guilty because he held it like a secret, even from his wife. I wondered if it would help to say anything, then made sure I would only speak if it had nothing to do with me and everything to do with him. And when it felt right, not when I was sure, but when the feelings told me it was time, I spoke--in passing so as not give him more reason to fear.

            “You’re supposed to write. The world needs you to write.” I paused as he stared at me in disbelief. Our smiles met, softening me even more. “I felt it, strongly, as soon as I saw you.” And that was when both of our smiles reached the edges of our cheeks.

*          *          *

There was something about her. Maybe the way she walked, maybe the way she held her arms or the slight stiffness in her neck. Or maybe it was something else entirely, something I might never fully understand. But still, it's true, some part of her that wasn't her voice, spoke. She wanted to take the proverbial leap but she just couldn’t wrap her head around that darn net that was supposed to appear. Where was it? Why couldn’t she see it yet? Was it this hard for everyone else to follow their dreams? Why then, did it have to be so hard for her? I saw it all, her struggle inside, like an aura, like the cloud around Charlie Brown’s friend Pig Pen. And because I was jogging past her and had to act fast, I trusted what I felt. I let Brave guide me, blurting out at the last second… “Do it. Live your dream, start the business. Let me be the messenger you were waiting for…!” And her hand went up to cover her mouth in shock.

*          *          *

Sometimes each of us feels things that our minds cannot understand. You might call it déjà vu, she might call it intuition, he might call it a sixth sense. But maybe, just maybe, it’s who we all are when we slow down enough, tune in enough, to listen, really listen to what’s going on in the lives of those around us. Maybe we aren’t just here to ride the wave, to find our happy, to grow peonies and lupines and color the world with our own unique brush. Maybe … we’re also here for each other.

My Wish this week is that you find your Brave and Be it. Be brave enough to tune in. Be brave enough to honor what you sense. Be brave enough to honor who you are, in fact, who we all are. Take the chance to affect someone else’s life for the better. Maybe he will never share his story if you don’t tell him he already has a fan. Maybe she won't open up that business, the one that would surely bring squeals of joy to so many children, if you don’t remind her that the universe is on her side. And you? Yes, even you. Maybe you won't realize the full potential of your one wild soul until you find your Brave and start walking strangers home.

Wednesday Wish (122); The Palabra of your Soul

photo by david talley

I saw you the other day. I watched you from afar. You thought you were all alone. You thought no one saw you. You wondered if anyone even cared. And when those thoughts didn’t want to leave, when you tried to whisk them away with a gentle but determined sigh, I saw that, too. Your heart, you see, it speaks to me in story, it sings to me in color, it begs me to translate the palabra of your soul.

There are so many things I’d like to tell you, so many secrets I’d love to unravel, but I don’t want to walk in, unannounced, to shock you out of your slumber, out of that safe place you have lived for so long, on your own, all alone. So I wait. And watch. And clutch my hands to my heart like a mother with nothing but love for her precious child.

But I’m not your mother. And you are not my child. I just see you with a depth that feels that primal, with a knowing that feels that significant, with a love that aches to walk you home.

And if I did, and if you dared to invite me in, I would graciously accept. I would clear my slate, I would wipe my feet, and I would enter in, a humble guest in your home, in your You, and this is what I would say.

I taste you as strongly as flavor on my tongue. I breathe you in like scent wafting from the oven or the sea or a flower gently waving, flowing in the breeze. You are familiar, as familiar to my soul as I am to me. I know you, Beautiful, I see you as if you were me.

I listen as your heart, not your voice, tells me stories, of the time he hurt you, of the time she crushed your innocence, of the time you betrayed your own Self in favor of someone else, of what you thought you should do. I see you in high dose snippets, movie bites strung together like beads, the patterns intense, the emotions high. You wear them, your stories, like medals, you carry them like burdensome fat. They wait, unprocessed, unheard, lingering like hope, as silent as clean laundry, as ripe as fermented fruit.

When you speak, each thing you say resonates with colors, your truths revealed ahead of you, so eager to be heard they can’t help but scream out in the brightest way they know how. And I see, my dear, I see. I see your colors, your dust-laden secrets that you thought you had buried. They are alive. And they have so much to say. So much to teach you. So much to share.

So next time you feel alone, why not invite me in, let me help you find solace in the truth that you can be seen. When your heart is open, I will gladly meet you there, in that space in between, where the river reaches up and the sky reaches down, in that space that no one sees but everyone knows, in that space that is your deepest Self, your deepest Truth. Yes, I’ll tell you as I walk you home, that you can be seen. You are seen. And your beauty does nothing less than bring me to my knees.

*          *          *

Honor the palabra, the language, of your soul. Find someone who sees you for who you are at your core, someone who knows how to hold your hand as you unravel the secrets hidden inside you that make you who you are. Be with those who dare to live with wide-open hearts, those who are moved by the beauty of a dew drop and the magic of the sea. For you are the only one who speaks your spoke, you are the only one who has your gifts to share and we need you, we need the wisdom of your soul now more than ever. So come, here, take my hand, let’s walk each other home …