As dusk sloped from the sky, slowly creeping onto the city in its ash gray shadow, I stood at the side of the road hypnotized by the dazzling beauty of the vibrant fuchsia creek above the horizon, reflected by the setting sun and the wind that has been blowing us off our feet throughout the day. It seemed as though the sky was split halfway through by the sharp pink toned streak, dancing graciously into the night with rhythm set by the song of dozens of tiny birds. I closed my eyes, and took a picture with my heart. The lasting kind.
Isn't it strange how in trialing times we often give up right before the miracle? What if the sun was afraid to rise when seeing the darkness? Instead it glows into it and lights up the world.
These weeks taught me true patience. Mostly with myself, my own rhythm, slowly leaning into the stretch and waking every morning to a new step into growth, however tiny, peeling off what no longer serves my life, instead of leaning back into what I have once known to be true, safe and comfortable.
Aside from patience I learned the essence of being truly open. Similar to the clay between the palm of my hands and among my fingers...The softer it is, the easier to mold and shape it into what I want it to become. The tougher it is in texture, the less likely it is to endure the alterations and very possibly crack at some point along the process of creation.
Contrast is essential for the soul.