Imagine tiny golden threads… No… not even that large.
Imagine golden, light-filled strands, tiny filaments of silk. A breath and, afflutter, they swoosh and swirl away. Less solid than a curl of incense rising from the offering.
Held in loving hands.
A babe takes its first breath.
Strong and wise
The young one reminds,
Falter does not equal fail.
Pass through the veil
Because death does not equal end.
Shining eyes and heartfelt smiles.
Sincere hugs and shared laughter.
Watchful mentors and eager students.
Careful questions and thoughtful answers.
Feeling joy on the inside and kitchen table revelations.
Tea and hummus.
Mostly, humbled and expanded, but starting and starting again. A daring journey into unknown territory. Surrendering the need to figure it all out.
Stealthy — trust crept in and curled itself up next to bravery.
Creativity is a right, a need, a responsibility, a deep pull from the centre, a dancing urge, a brand new pen, a colouring book, an Etch-a-Sketch, a silent space, a priority, a ball of yarn, a tune, six strings, a bunch of playdoh, a bead, a button, a baby, a piece of smooth white paper that craves a palm’s touch, a brand new computer freshly plucked from foam, a long line curve of a rocky beach enjoyed in blissful solitude, a first morning sip of coffee, a rhythm tapped out by raindrops, a returning, again, again, again, again, just once more, to the table, the mat, the page.
It may seem to you.
Find the light
Within the past.
Not your job