As my dreams linger, dancing in the way that dreams do, I arise to the light of the new day. My feet are ready for the ground, for whatever comes my way. Soon the greetings begin, the chorus of voices in my home, each as sweet as the birdsong.
Setting goals well comes from a soulful meditation, a profound sense of why you are alive and what you wish to give. Added to that, I found the obstacle to my own success when I realised it was something I was either doing or not doing, that I had the power to make changes that were positive. A great athlete gets there by choosing to train every day, because they listened to their inner passion and this was the whispering of their soul. The great writer writes every day because at the deepest level of who they are there is a flourishing of words that need to be born into the world and live in the hearts of others to bring health and joy. The builder or engineer lives to solve puzzles in three dimensional space, to provide shelter, a place to call home. The mathematician lives to solve theorems, gives answers that fuel technological innovations.
And so the way forward is to find this inner wish, this innate desire and passion, and then see how to scale or walk around your obstacle, to dance that exact path you feel compelled to dance. Then every day you take steps toward conquering it, for over time those steps take you to your goal and even beyond it to new horizons. This is growth and the focus you need comes easily when it is born of your loving curiosity, a sense that if you achieve you benefit everyone else, that you will have a beautiful gift to give others. Your wish, your love, your curiosity, your desire to help others, your need to be your true self - that is your "why?"
I started pedaling, inching toward my destination and enjoying the newly cool air. It was a lovely day, the first of all the days of spring, with crocuses and daisies in the neighbors garden, and white asters blooming all around. I didn't simply like nature, but rather I loved it. The trees and the flowers and the animals who lasted all around. Imagining all of nature destroyed would be like leaving my soul gasping for breath.
The thing about this body, or any body, is that it belongs to the brain within. Whatever you do to the body, you do to the brain. Feelings will come from the senses. Yet here's the thing. Whatever you do to the brain you do to the body. If the brain does not sense that the body is loved, it starts to shut down the body, lowering the immune system. So be careful in your deeds to this body, be kind in your words, be generous with your loving eyes... for it does far more than most realise and we are each other's doctors... so be patient...
The brambles burst forward with sweet black berries, their flavour a perfect balance of boldness and subtlety. As we pick and eat our fingers become a deep purple, the juice soaking so wonderfully into our skin. When it comes time to head home we will have enough to make a pie, yet we will also be comfortably content with the feast nature has given.
It is an endless canvas that colors are tossed upon. Some days it is a pure, uninterrupted blue that stretches seamlessly across my field of vision. When the sun rises, it is a child's painting, bright pinks and oranges piled on top of each other, reflecting off low hanging clouds and filling the world with a haze of wonder. When it storms, the harsh glow of lightning illuminates the gathering piles of dull grey clouds that are angrily pushing against each other. At night, the moon glows, giving the speckle of stars a guide light. The sky is alive, growing at each passing moment, a constant changing canvas for the world to see.
Imagine a light source within a diamond of pure clarity, one light, one source... forming a kaleidoscope of dancing rainbows. We are the same, souls from one source of love that shines through us to make our individuality. Our uniqueness growing in beauty as we follow and hone our gifts. Divergence is strength and we are the diamonds, born to shine as stars.
I can name all the colors of rainbow before you can finish counting to seven. I can name all thirty-two colors of Nate's striped dirty blanket. I know the names of all shades of orange, each faded differently from washing.
I can tell what the color of the slide was when Nate and I played there the last time as normal elementary school kids. I remember what color I was wearing when I was first stripped down, or when Nate first showed up covered in blood. I can even name all the shades of red there was on my pants, on his shirt.
When I shoot up a firecracker, colors become just a conception, not a real thing. Even the sky looses the name for its color. I wish I knew what those colors were called. The only thing I know is it will not fade away, but it will spread into infinity, each tiny bit taking a part of me, flying me through different galaxies.
But then, those little firecrackers don't go far before falling back to the ground.
In a cooperative universe differences are celebrated, for they enable the masses to explore new avenues of opportunity and joy; yet in a competitive universe they are feared and despised, most dangerous to the gifted one in the moment and their extinguishing dangerous to the masses in the longterm.
Black clouds sprawl across the sky, billowing in from the west. Their brassy glare drains colour from houses and trees and burnished cars in driveways, leaving neighbourhoods tinted bronze in the faltering light. The air grows heavy and the humidity presses down, suffocating. The scent of rain is dark and heady. A stillness falls over the street, and in the silence comes a low crackle of thunder, rolling across rooftops to the pattering of tiny raindrops. For a moment, everything stops. Even the wind holds its breath. A streak of hot silver splits the sky, and the downpour begins.
"When the world needs us to fight the good fight, no matter the odds, we fight together. And we will always be alright, you and I, because will we always have each other." His voice had soothed my ears that day, resonating so deeply with everything that I am. I can still hear his words echoing in my head, the beautiful lyrics that were his song.
A royal crown sits upon his head like a boat stuck on a stream in one place. It's like it's entangled in the roots of his hair, like it's apart of him. In the shower, at work, in front of everyone. It's going to be there for ever and ever. But who cares? I like it that way.