|photo by benjamin williamson via google images|
In the early morning, before the mist has lifted its veil, I slip outside to drink in the whispers of my New England sea. She tells of far away places, of mysteries and wonders and jewels I cannot see. And she laps, laps up with her gentle, rhythmic voice, reminding me again and again that the beauty, yes the beauty, will never cease. So stay awhile, she says to me with her tender knowing heart, stay awhile and let me soothe you back to see …
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Who were you before your mind snuffed out your dreams? Before the rules reigned supreme? What hidden place does that You live in now, where the birds sing answers to your mysteries and the ocean belts out hymns to your soul?
Were you once freer, with the wonders not tied to the gossips and the tragedies and the news but to the heavens and the spirals of your own sacred heart? Were the secrets of your tomorrows once unwrapped like riches, their paper and ribbons and stickies, all treasures revealed for touching your soul?
There there, little one, let me soothe you back to see …
When you led with your heart, when your soul held the reins, when what you did followed your fancy and what you said rang true to your deepest richest core. When you cried, when you laughed, when you spoke to be heard, and when you walked away when someone wasn’t nice, not pretending to tolerate the ugly, not pretending to accept the mean, not pretending to be anyone other than who your soul was born to be.
When, pray tell, did you stop believing in the mystery, in the wonder, in the jewels your mind forgets to see?
There there, little one, won’t you dare to dream again with me? To find the beauty that always, always, always, forever wants to be?
So says the sea, on this beautiful morning gifted to me.
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