In her mind she replayed the last few years. So much unexplained and complicated. She leaned into the hot breeze and trusted her intuitive sensations.
This time, though, the mixed feelings were laced with a new realization:
Much of her life had been a consistent pattern of inconsistency.
She closed her eyes and smelled the sun. The path was summer-worn and led down to the water.
Pillars of strong oak trees guarded the path. It was comforting, as solitude often is.
It will be okay, whispered the ancient oaks.
Her footsteps were softened by a carpet of twigs and leaves.
The dock slightly swayed in the water. The space was safe and peaceful. Two blue herons swooped gracefully along— a mirrored image in the still creek. Doves cooed. Cicadas chattered. Nature created a symphony of compassion.
And there, I saw her sitting alone.
That same little girl tucked deep in my heart. Her tights were tore. Her hair never curly but fine and straight. Wisps of blonde, the color of a full moon and eyes of a blue sea.
She stared at me with an imploring question of why?
I took her hand and explained the best I could.
We go through this journey to find who we are.
We see it in others. We heal our scars.
We find our fears and face them head on.
We always have choices.
We learn from our falls. Stumble and yet we keep going on.
We relearn how to trust.
We watch and listen.
And invite compassion. Otherwise our hearts harden.
We are all part of a script and play different roles. The characters arrive in amazing timeliness. Not all are kind, or fair but many are. Each person we meet has a purpose. There’s something viable to teach us.
We set boundaries and learn to be kind, but not a doormat.
We stretch, twist and turn as we wiggle into the uncomfortable spaces and recline into liberation only when we let the strings of attachment go.
The stress, anxiety and worries slipped into the water as concentric circles spilled into tranquility.
I held her hand and squeezed it gently. I felt myself merge with a lost part of me and the realization,
“When I accept myself, I am freed from the burden of needing you to accept me.”
~ Dr. Steve Maraboli.
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Editor: Jenna Penielle Lyons
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