A single phrase, a careless gesture, a picture on a screen, can lift us clean from our roots.  Severing us from the centering-force of our heart song.  Flailing, falling, reaching to recover the anchoring ground that was ours just moments before.  Words spoken in haste, hurt leading the way, fear filling the void.  The veils are ripped away and the ugliness of the world finds a seed of its echo in our own bright soul.  We judge.  The world, ourselves.  The wasteland opens up before us.

It is a slow road back to wholeness.  Tracing the route of dry banks, cracked and parched beneath an unforgiving sky.  Yearning to find the source of fresh water once more.  Digging into the damp clay of the self.  Crying salt tears that leave patterns of grief upon the bones of the world.  

Patience.  Yearn. Dig. Cry.   Accept the shadow until its light breaks through.  Surrender to love though you feel unloveable. Until the sky opens up in response to your song and all is washed clean and reborn.  In the river-bank a trickle becomes a torrent and you drink deep once more of the well-spring of the soul.  Sweeter and clearer than you ever thought possible.  Sunlight on the skin.  Hope in the heart.  

Savour this time.  Braid it in your hair.  Smooth it into your skin.  Sink into it with every step.  Offer it up in each moment.  For one day, my beloved. you will be the water and the earth, the light and the shadow through which others journey to find the missing pieces of their broken souls once more.

Sing, my love, sing.  For the only lasting darkness is the heart closed to the truth.

Cry, my love, cry.  For tears offer healing, carry love and bear witness to all.

Dig, my love, dig.  For the work of the hands stills the mind and lets the truth shine through.

Drink, my love, drink.  For the world needs you awake, alive and whole.

 

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