It begins with an ache, a deep-belly
breath, a cup of hot tea on the sun-soaked deck.
It begins with a prayer said aloud
to the empty kitchen, space enough to hear
the want beneath the want beneath the want.
It begins with a thank you
for what is, a remembering that all
of it is temporary, none of it guaranteed, every
last bit of it precious.
It begins with slowing to the pace of silence,
then getting closer, closer
than you have ever gotten before. Then even a little bit closer. To breath, river, heartache,
sunlight. Because, as Yeats said:
‘The world is full of magic things
waiting for our senses to grow sharper.’
It begins, always, with a moment fully allowed.
It begins over and over and over again, new, every day—
with the courage to persist, to do it differently, to walk
the way only you can walk. The courage
to stand all the way up for what holds and heals, to fiercely declare that enough is enough—no more excuses, no more holding in or back, no more pretending
to be small, damn it. Because you are not small. You have never, ever been small.
And God, how this sleeping world needs your bigness.
It begins with picking up the light
and dancing with it all night long, vowing
to never put it down. And then scattering it
like seed to every hurting heart.
It begins with a thank you for what is, a remembering
that all of it is temporary, none of it guaranteed—
every last bit of it precious.”
~ ©Julia Fehrenbacher : Painted Path
www.juliafehrenbacher.com
