And suddenly you know:  It’s time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings – Meister Eckhart

Dear Readers,

I do not think I have expressed the following in some time.  And.  Because I am blessed with some of you more recently connecting to things I write and share, I know I have been remiss in expressing this to you.

I am grateful for YOU

You matter to me.

If you have been following my blogs for some time now, you know I am passionate about inspiring hope, sharing the awe-filling ways Nature speaks, and encouraging transforming journeys.   I am also a very empathetic person; translation I think deeply, I hear deeply, and I feel deeply.     Case in point, I have had a tag line on various social media platforms that includes shifting the planet’s grief to hope one life story at a time.   I feel the action of those words like someone else would look at their list of to-do’s that include pack the family lunches or take the dog for a run.  (smile, grin).    

I love communicating through writing.  I know, obviously! (grin)  Because even more than writing, I love teaching.   I never realized just how much until the most recent steps up the spiral staircase journey I am currently on.   I reflect on how impactful teachers have been in my life, in many forms.   School.  Work.  Mentors.   Friends, family, classmates, strangers, dogs, nature.  Words from other authors and motivational speakers. 

Yep, pretty much everyone and everything in life!  (smile, grin)  

And just as I have been blessed to experience many diverse teachers in my life, I am listening to the Universe as it whispers for me to bring variety to my teaching I love to do.   This week’s blueprint is going to offer just that.  Different blueprint designs than what you have been receiving.   I will be honored if you are willing to be a student who likes an assortment.

The Universe has been whispering to me that in the dance of grace between opposites, there is a place in which the opposites can collide and the distinction between the two can become blurred. As it is said, energy flows where attention goes and sometimes, in an effort to shift the planet’s grief to hope, I fear I have kept grief in the lead.   Now it is time for me to pivot and be a teacher for us all (including myself!) how we can dance with imagination, playfulness, exploration, curiosity, anticipation, and what I hope is also joyfulness.   While also acknowledging that suffering and grief are also real to life, and that it is only in looking into the eyes of these that we can truly transform into the beautiful, hope-full, joy-filled life that IT IS. 

I am introducing a poem.   Though my published books are written in prose, with a very rhythmic poetic style, I have not historically written poems.   Play.  Exploration.   (smile)

I am also introducing a fictional life story, with various characters you will meet in the future.  The Creases Now Speak.   Let me give this backdrop.  A few weeks ago, the story you will read below emerged in a writing class. My attempt to step out of my comfort zone of non-fiction writing and explore fiction. When the next class began, though I knew I wanted to experiment with fiction, I didn’t plan that a second character connected to this story would emerge on paper, but she did.  (You will meet her in the future.)    Then, a third character appeared. Then a fourth and fifth.

I don’t have a chapter outline or a character plan.   What has been coming to paper appears in the week I sit down to write. I suppose one could say a channeling of sorts.  In whom the characters become and in the interwoven stories that are of “real life.”  Translation, what the characters experience could be a true life story.    Once you read the first five posts of The Creases Now Speak, you and I will discover together who else appears for future posts.

Again, I am grateful for YOU and all of you matter to me. You are giving me a great honor subscribing to receive blog postings from me. With only so many hours in your day/ week, it is a privilege that I am part of what flows into your already large amount of information, tasks, requests, etc. that all need / want your valuable time.    

Thank you for learning with me as we shift and evolve, dancing together on this dance floor we call life. 

And now for

The Art of the Pinch

The Creases Now Speak

Behind Edward’s closed eyes, her silhouette walks to the table as he fervently writes. Though he is at the café for something to drink, he is more focused on reporting the latest events. He knows his editor will be pleased to receive Edward’s newest story.

She is patiently waiting for him to look up and place his coffee order with her.

He learns her name is Mỹ, pronounced MEE. Later, he will look up that MEE means “beautiful.” 

And she was. Breathtakingly so with her deep brown eyes that reminded him of perfect skipping stones found in the creek bottom behind his childhood home. He spent hours at the creek. There wasn’t much else to do in Cordova, Illinois, population 364 in the late 1940’s, early 50’s.  

Looking into Mỹ’s eyes was like looking into the glistening water of that creek, never wanting to leave.

His grandson Joshua always thinks Edward is sleeping when he enters the assisted living room that is now Edward’s home. Every Thursday. 4:00 p.m. Like clockwork.

Edward likes being able to rely on the rhythm and ritual of Joshua’s visits. Something to look forward to besides the daily predictable in-room breakfast at 8:00 a.m., physical therapy at 9:30, a shower at 11:00, lunch with the other residents at noon, then free time until dinner at 5:30 p.m. with everyone again.  

Except Thurdays. Thursdays Joshua brings dinner, just the two of them. They look at old photographs and stories from Edward’s journalism career when every day was nothing short of intense unpredictability.

Edward was an international news reporter. He traveled the world, always on the front line of a significant ending. The fall of the Soviet Union in the 90’s, the Berlin Wall in the 80’s, the end of the Vietnam War in the 70’s.  

Vietnam is where he met beautiful Mỹ.

And where he left her.

He remembers showing Patricia, his wife – God rest her soul – pictures from his time in Vietnam. One of the pictures included Mỹ looking up from the tea she was pouring. Patricia didn’t wonder about those glistening brown eyes looking back because it wasn’t unusual for Edward to have candid pictures of people in his journalism collection. 

Edward is certain Patricia never saw the folded letter tucked in his wallet card pocket. Patricia always respected his wallet was his personal property, just as he never rifled through her purse. 

He has unfolded and folded the letter so many times there are small tears at the creases, tiny rips making it hard to read some of the curves and lines of Mỹ’s native Vietnamese language. He had learned a few words, like Mỹ, Xin Chào for hello, Cám ợn for thank you, and Đúng Xin vui lὸng for yes, please.

Mỹ’s communication to him was head nods and smiles in place of English she didn’t know.   She did learn how to say his name.

Sometimes, when his eyes are closed when Joshua arrives, Edward is listening to Mỹ’s soft voice slowly saying the foreign letters of his name, E-D-W-A-R-D gently flowing over her tongue and past her lips. Like a creek slowly flowing over rocks and past the feet of a young boy dangling them in the current’s gentle movements.

In the fifty-two years since Edward last saw Mỹ, he has wondered. Did she marry? Did she become a mom and if so, he hopes it was to a daughter. He likes to think she is a grandmother, too, for there is no greater joy than being a grandparent.

He doesn’t have regrets.   He met and married Patrica a couple of years after Vietnam. The best forty-six years of his life. He has told Joshua more than once that grandma was a saint. From their home in a suburb of Chicago, his beloved Patricia raised their two daughters largely on her own while he galivanted around the world for the most pressing and latest news the public should know.  

Edward stopped traveling the world when he and Patrica finished raising Joshua after their cherished daughter Stephanie passed away from leukemia. Joshua didn’t need much more raising at that point; he was sixteen.   His single mom had raised him well to then.

Like Mỹ’s mom had raised her without a father who had been killed in the early years of the war.

Today when Joshua enters the room Edward’s eyes are open.

“Hi Grandpa. You’re awake today!   Hey, what’s that you’re holding?   It looks like it’s falling apart.”

“It’s a fifty-two-year-old letter.   Something I was given when I was reporting the end of the war in Vietnam,” Edward explained.

“What does it say?” Joshua asked looking over Edward’s shoulder. “Grandpa, is that Vietnamese?” he exclaimed astonishingly.

“I wish I knew. I never had a way of translating it.” 

“Grandpa, we can translate it with my computer. You can do just about anything on the internet now.” Joshua eagerly said as he hurried to grab his computer from his backpack.

Edward hesitated for a moment, unsure if he was ready for the creases to speak.

Thân mến. “The first word is ‘dear’”. Joshua continues, albeit rather slowly, typing symbolled letters into his computer, asking Edward “Who gave you this letter?” 

Edward replies simply, “someone I met at a coffee shop.” 

A couple hours later Joshua finished translating the symbols and letters, except for where the creases were torn and slightly ripped rendering the letters illegible.   In those spaces Joshua used intuition to piece words together.

Joshua reads the translation.

Dear Edward,

My uncle arranged my mom and I to come to the United States. A city named Chicago. Maybe I see you in a coffee shop one day.

Love,

Mỹ

When Joshua looks up, tears are rolling down Edwards cheek as he closes his eyes. He sees a silhouette walking up to the table, eyes as brown as the skipping rocks glistening in the creek that one wishes to never leave.

“Willfulness must give way to willingness and surrender. Mastery must yield to mystery.” – Gerald May 

It’s not the first time I’ve written about rushing to the sound of a bang against a window.  Which prompts a rush to my shoes if the weather isn’t conducive to bare feet.   Time could be saved if I didn’t stop to put foot protection on for the cold.  Ah, but then I ponder, am I reaching for foot protection? Or am I responding with foot barriers?

What if I didn’t put on shoes or a coat to hurry outside to experience a miracle?  

What if I felt the full sensation of the transition from a warm floor inside our home to the cold grass outside that is our larger dwelling we all inhabit? What if feeling the brisk wind more closely against my arms and chest without a thick layer of coat to resist offers the tiniest sensation of what it feels like to fly if I could?

What if I let go of my will to hear from my starting place and surrendered to the mystery of what the Universe was communicating when it sent this winged friend to the window March 30^th?

Hawks have been a meaningful messenger for me for several years now. Ten, to be exact. It was a Hawk that “banged” its attention for me to listen when Roo (my running mate and one of two main characters in my memoir) and I rescued it after its road injury. Note, as the phrase goes, don’t try this at home; don’t pick up a dazed and near dying hawk and place it in your vehicle then drive home approximately ten miles away. Thankfully, Hawk listened to my intention it would be okay but waited until we got home before this winged friend shifted from dazed to ready to fly away!

I knew that day when I held out a lid filled with water for Hawk to drink that an integration was taking place between us. In my awe I knew something significant was occurring. I didn’t know that what was taking place was only a beginning.   I didn’t know that in my compassion, trust, and hopefulness that Hawk would live, how I was fully showing up was gaining me a messenger, protector, and guide to navigate the mysteries in life’s design.  

I was listening but hadn’t fully released my will to a willingness to be open and fully receive the moment.   Even if it meant the moment was teaching me how to let go.

If you have read To the Moon and Back to Me (my memoir), you know how it was Hawk (and Owl) who visited to affirm my belief that death is not goodbye. Hawk would appear after I would ask for a sign that Roo was still beside me energetically. Hawk has taught me faith.

Over time, as my grief softened and my faith, trust, and listening abilities increased, I started to see Hawk appear at “just the right time” when I was feeling doubtful, alone, or uncertain. Hawk would perch watchfully in a tree for me to hear patience. And don’t forget trust.  Hawk would identify its meal, soar down and strike letting me know go for the opportunity in front of you without fear and with confidence.

When thoughts were starting to churn in my mind, Hawk would call out its voice, quiet the chatter, listen, and you will hear the clarity you need. Sometimes Hawk would add soar, spread your wings as it flew circles around me. When I danced between my intuition and my willfulness, Hawk would suddenly appear, slow down and see and see again. Don’t forget trust the path ahead you can’t see.     

Always at that right moment and for the moments coming I couldn’t – and can’t yet – see.  For Hawk is still very much my messenger, protector, and guide through life’s mysterious design. Always in every message is you are supported and ask me. For Hawk really likes it when I ask for an appearance at just the “right moment.” Not too different from us humans who feel valued when someone asks us for assistance, too. (smile) 

On March 30^th, I rushed outside to find this winged friend waiting for me. My heart told me even if I wasn’t holding one, the markings sure spoke Hawk and that I needed to be with the awe of this experience.  A deeper integration was occurring. (A dear friend and bird photographer extraordinaire told me she believes I held a juvenile Cooper Hawk.)

At a certain moment I asked this little one if it was ready to fly. Instead of departing, it stayed, its feet gripping my finger, looking intently into my eye as it whispered when the time is right. Don’t seek the meaning.  Be present, now, experiencing. In letting go of the will to know, you will discover what knowing you need.

It remains a mystery, this moment March 30^th, but experience has taught me that if I surrender my will, I will discover and receive what I need when I need it.

I will close with this. Yesterday I was reflecting on the next Blueprint message. I was dancing with doubt and passion. I write not for a “look at me”, but because I have discovered this sometimes harsh, often scary, frequently uncertain life is so incredibly beautiful and joyous and easier, yes easier, to navigate when we do let go to willingness to see, hear, and experience it as incredibly beautiful and joyous.   My passion yearns to inspire others to discover the same. Doubt enters when I think don’t preach; show, don’t tell.  I want to offer you blueprints so you can…rush out and feel the joy of a bird in your hand. (smile) 

In my dance yesterday, Hawk called nearby write from the voice of your heart.

I hold the intention you can hear it in the way that YOU need.

Namaste’

As some of you know, every Friday I post a short video on Instagram created in Nature from Nature’s inspiration. I used to ponder and plan, then enter Nature to find the imagery that would support my planned message. True to Mother Nature as messenger in Her awe-filling magical way, what would happen is I would enter an outdoor space with a preconceived idea; Nature would decide there was a better thought to talk about. Now, when I am outside on Fridays, I ask, what is our message today?

Blueprints for a Hope-Filled Life is following a similar path this time. Instead of having an idea or theme and then finding a picture or pictures to support the message, I began with a picture and am letting the message(s) reveal themselves as I write.

I will start with a quote that crossed my path by Kahlil Gibran. Trees are poems the Earth writes upon the sky. I love to stand at the base of a tree and look up through the branches and leaves into the sky. I’ve even been known to provide a tree-hugging assignment in a class I teach. (Smile) Based on my own tree-hugging experiences, of course. (Smile).

I remember as a little girl standing at different trees in our yard eager and determined to climb them. Some I couldn’t, their lowest branches beginning much higher than my capability to reach a limb and hoist the rest of me up.   Others I could, at least to the first branches. I don’t remember looking up once I successfully climbed into a tree.  I remember a feeling of being home in their outstretched arms, nestled safely inside the shelter of their leaves.

This quote by Kahlil Gibran elegantly expresses the beauty I see when I look up and into and through the outstretched branches of a tree. Poems the Earth has written onto the sky.

As Collin’s Dictionary defines a poem, a piece of writing in which the words are chosen for their beauty and sound and are carefully arranged. Collin’s defines a poet as a person who has the gift of poetic thought, imagination, and creation, together with eloquence of expression.    

The Earth the poet, the trees the arranged beauty and sound on sheets of the sky’s blank pages.

Alice Osborn, author, editor, and poet writes poetry teaches us how to live. Poetry is like the Windex on a grubby car window – it bares open the vulnerabilities of human beings so we can all relate to each other a little better.

For us, the “readers,” as we behold the trees in all their shapes, heights, and uniqueness. No two trees exactly alike, even a stand of pines lined up like twins, quadruplets, or sextuplets. Individuality still abounds amidst the identicalness as pine trees.  Or oak, walnut, cherry, apple, willow, birch, redwood. And the extensive list could go on.

Much like nationalities and cultures throughout the world. Individuality abounds amidst the commonality of being human in the forests and wooded acreage of French, Dutch, Vietnamese, Jewish, Australian, Italian, Nigerian, American, Irish, Japanese, Yanomami. And the extensive list could go on.

The extensive list could go on with all the classifications and labels we have given to identifying as a specific tree in the forest of humanity. Toddler, teenager, millennial, baby boomer, elderly.

Entrepreneur, “high-potential,” “Straight-A student,” CEO, Executive, “Fast-Learner,” Professional, MBA, PhD.

Or Veteran. Minority. Survivor. Patient. Downsized. Unemployed. Underprivileged.

Retired. Majority. Child. Parent.

One of my favorite talks courtesy of TEDx is by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, The Danger of a Single Story. The single story creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete. They make one story become the only story.

And of course, as you know, I love life stories! (smile) 

What if we entered the woods, not to compare the mighty oak in its regal height to the maple sapling just starting to grow?

What if we stood at a tree base, looked up into the outstretched branches filled with leaves, and saw a collective poem of diverse beauty instead of a mass impediment and blockages to the sunlight?

One of my favorite quotes (and you know I have many!) is by Anothony Douglas Williams. When I look into the eyes of an animal, I do not see an animal. I see a living being. I see a friend. I feel a soul. Though I do this imperfectly as the human being I am, this is how I strive to view humanity. When I look into the eyes of a person, I do not see [only] a person…I feel a soul.

One of the individuals I am privileged to coach shares her wisdom often. We are losing our ability to be humanity.   

We are losing our ability to connect eyes to eyes, ears to ears, heart to heart.

To feel, in the vast forest of a thick wooded land, we are still seen, heard, and valued for our part in the whole.

We are challenged to look past the descriptors of our doing as humans to see the souls of who we are that show up each day.

In that dance of grace between opposites is something else the trees whisper. We don’t need to try to fit into the forest. We already are a part of it.

Just like the Friday videos in which I enter Nature unaware of what message Nature has, I didn’t know where the picture of this tree would lead.  It seems to have wanted to speak, we are more than we initially see.

I believe the sun and the leaves are also whispering.   When you look, what do you hear and see?

I will leave you with this last quote for reflecting and pondering.

Trees exhale for us so that we can inhale them to stay alive. Can we ever forget that? Let us love trees with every breath we take until we perish. -Munia Kahn 

Though I anticipate history began for Deer and me before, my awareness of our history started in the Spring of 2011 the first time my feet stood at the end of a trail, I willing my body to override my mind as it grumbled, I really have to run?!!! Ready, set, about to go when a single file line of several Deer ran perpendicular to me across the trail.  

When Deer crossed my path, I was vowing to honor my commitment.  Two friends, a triathlon, and my yes, I will pledge.   I also stood at that trail embodying my familiar self-imposed pressure that if I didn’t go through with it, I would need to be ashamed of myself.    

Not from my two friends, but from a colleague at the time who I knew would not let me “live it down” if didn’t complete this mission.  He had been trained to complete the hardest of missions.  He was an exceptional triathlete.  By asking him for a triathlon training plan, there was no way I wasn’t going to start moving my body in a run.  So, I stood in that historical moment preparing to build the mental and physical fortitude to run 3.1 miles.

In that dance between opposites, Deer offered gentleness, compassion, and determination while I danced with harshness of self in doubt and judgment.  My awkwardness met their gracefulness.   I accepted their determination; I was running as a task to perform. I was in a push and move mode, not trust and embrace mode.  I was trying to sternly do.  Deer were messaging softly be.

I was about to start running, frightened and uncertain of my capabilities.  The deer were modeling my feelings as they ran past me, in fright and uncertainty of my sudden appearance in their home.  The deer were also showing me that once I ran with my fear into the thicket of my narratives, I would find calmness with my history.  Just as their run into the brush became a nearly silent calm walk that I could no longer hear them doing.  

A dear friend recently shared with me about a group of treasured lifetime friendships she has.  One of the top things she loves about the bond is the history that they share.  A history that isn’t just their friendship but is the stories each of them have lived individually with highs and lows, good times and challenging ones, certainty and uncertainty, joy and grief, doubt and faith.  Their individual stories integrate into a collective history of support, belonging, and empowerment.   

I marvel at and love how life lays out steppingstones to follow, bringing a message that resonates, and then brings another after that to take us deeper into contemplation.   A few days after this conversation with a friend, I was in a meaningful conversation with someone special about time and how I feel that time softens and her grace-full wisdom that as time goes on we are offered the opportunity to look back, observe, and see how what we experienced fit into where we are now.   

Deer continues to show up for me at the “right” times.  When I’m in a plank workout on my rebounder (trampoline), digging deep with my breathing through the muscle “burn”, Deer walks into view of our French door nudging with their determination message and also be gentle with yourself reminder. 

They still appear at the start of a hike or run, or when I need a reminder to be compassionate with self or others.  Deer greets me from a few hundred feet away as I walk out our home door, our eyes locking.  I say hello, namaste, thank you for visiting today.  They respond with a slight wave of the tail, further eye contact, and then calmly, slowly, they turn and walk away.

And of course, if you read December’s SHED post, Deer have been there to affirm the shedding process I was going through shedding my inner beliefs. 

Deer and I have a history.   I was filled with self-doubt when Deer crossed my path that first time I ran.  The doubt not only about running.   I was doubtful of me in many ways.  I had been moving out of depression, regret, and grief.  I was as far away from self-compassion and gentleness with self as I was ready to run a ¼ mile. 

Over time, as Deer patiently and determinedly kept showing up, 3.1 miles became 6.2, then 13.1, then 26.2, 33.5, 50.  As time passed, doubt and the memories that had initiated the doubt softened.  The gentle graceful visits of Deer became my gentler running steps.  The narrations for each of us – the little girl, teenager, young adult, and middle-aged adult – became an integrated history, the purposeful experiences that all played a part in the chapter I am now living.

Very recently I ran a trail marathon in the “hills” of Catalina Island (California), “hills” my affectionate name for mountain terrain.  In the last few years, as time has softened a feeling I needed to run like Deer, I have fallen in love with mountains and the parallel to life that traversing elevation teaches.  Hiking up steep switchback grades and back down teaches me valleys are temporary and trust that the summits will be reached! 

Hiking mountains requires presence.  It isn’t a race to the top.  Oh, some do race, but for me, the views on the journey are too awe-filling to rush up and down them.  Now, like Deer, I do not always run every step.  I pause, look the views in the eye, and then calmly turn and walk away. 

During the recent marathon, Deer communicated they were with me, still integrated in each other’s life chapters to create more history.  Their prints leaving me a path to follow of gentleness, compassion, determination, and grace.   Softly pointing

Be.

Edith Merchant was my great grandmother.   

I have very few memories of her.   When I do think of her, the first image I have is based on photographs that fill in what my mind doesn’t hold in recollection.   And yet.   When I reflect further what I remember is how I felt warmth when I was around her.  

I don’t mean warmth in the sense of how she may have scooped me up in her arms in a big bear hug or how I may have sat on her lap wrapped in a blanket.   I mean warmth as in the energy from the nature of who she was and how she showed up to others. 

I was in dialogue with one of my aunts sharing this sentiment about my memory of Great Grandma.  My aunt, who had many more memories and experiences because it was my aunt’s grandma, shared that Great Grandma was one of the most grace-filled individuals with people that my aunt has ever known.    

I felt chills in that way that our bodies communicate resonation when my aunt said that.  It is the warmth I felt with Great Grandma.   Her grace.  

As my aunt and I continued to talk, including me sharing how I feel that my aunt shows up with much grace to others, my aunt shared these wise words.  I guess, long before we realize it, we are drinking it into our souls how others are.    

We are listening, observing, and embodying the essences of those put on our paths. 

Every person plants a seed through how they show up on our paths. 

We may not even be aware how much we are drinking it into our souls.  

Or just how beautifully designed it is for those meant to show up on our paths.  

Exactly as they are.  

I am starting to ponder one of the dances us humans do, and how we tend to stay on one side of the ballroom instead of gracefully gliding across the full length of the room.  That side we tend to stay on is for choreographing a dance titled “IMPROVE”.  

Much movement accompanies the musical sounds and lyrics to the human internalization that we aren’t yet “enough”, and we seek that destination once we improve on X, Y, or Z or once something external “gets better”.  

There are also the very important dance moves related to improvements through learning from history so as not to repeat devastation and suffering and to break generational cycles of pain and trauma.    Spending time choreographing the “Improve” dance is not a bad thing.   

But do we miss some time we could spend choreographing “SAVOR”?

Do we ever miss reflecting on what we drank into our souls that we can enhance?

I remember a leadership development teacher several years ago who taught our class to identify one area we wished to improve on AND one area we considered our strength that we wanted to capitalize on.   Her point was two-fold.   One was that we should only pick one thing for each category (i.e. improvement and existing strength) so that we didn’t end up being masters of none focusing on too many areas at once.   And two, we tend to focus on what we need to do better and in doing so, what we do well starts to diminish.  

When my aunt shared about Great Grandma’s graceful nature in who she was, the resonating chills I experienced went deeper than connecting the warmth I felt in my memory of her with her being someone of grace.    I also felt myself shift from focusing on the generational pain and trauma I am striving to break the cycle of that I know was experienced on the opposite side of my paternal family through my father’s mother, and grandmother.  Through my other Great Grandma.          

I felt myself savoring that what I drank into my soul long before I knew I did was someone who would plant a seed to fulfill my soul’s yearning to grow in grace with how I showed up with people.   That when my soul entered this life with its plan for all that it desired to learn in this lifetime, a perfectly designed plan had been put in place.   My path would cross not only with exposure to the legacy pain and trauma so that the footprints I plan for others to follow will have stopped the inheritance of that suffering.    The perfectly designed plan would also include being exposed to a grace with life and people that could also fill my shoes and the imprints left behind. 

At the right time, when I was ready, I would be able to look into my soul and what I had drank in and begin to integrate both choregraphed dances into one beautiful dance called “LIFE”.  

I often hear the inner whisper from one of my most favorite books (that I think I’ve referenced before), “The Little Soul and the Sun”.    I have sent you nothing but love. 

Every person brought to our path, for a moment, a season, or a lifetime, are sent to us from and with love.   A perfectly designed plan for our beautiful dance called “LIFE”.     

As we drink the essence of others into our souls, so, too, others are drinking in the essence of us.

And now the question to ponder, what are we pouring?