I struggle so to figure it all out, to understand, imagine, grow and become the soft that is in my heart. It is a tender sweet little heart that easily sheds a tear to see the beauty, simplicity and sweet Hands of Life. I do believe. I believe there is hope. I believe there is goodness. I believe we are each unique and placed here for a purpose that only we can fill. I believe like a giant jig saw puzzle the absence of our piece, our heart our purpose will be noticed and felt. I believe the Heart can transform, not scar, any experience. I believe that people gifted into our lives and friendship, partners, and lovers are as treasured as the gift of breath - without them the spirit suffocates. I believe that when we believe nothing can stop us. I believe in compassion that sees the beauty, love, potential and wonder in the other's eyes and then sees the reflection is in truth his or herself. I believe that nothing is ordinary, all a gift, a wonder a treasure to see and feel. I believe love can translate any language and gift restoration to any sense of loss. I believe in the earth, nature, the dance of the sun and moon. I believe presence with and for another completes the dint in the image of the heart. I believe people filled with passion, purpose, dreams and abundant abundance are no different than I. I believe we can heal, ourselves and others. I do believe. I do.
Hellen Keller, without hearing, without sight, without speech and untouched by the world had no bridge nor thread to tie the words spelled into her hand by Anne Sullivan. Words we take for granted were no more than a scratch in the palm of her hand. Finally, Anne thrust Helen's hand into a pump's stream of water spelling w-a-t-e-r in the palm of her hand. It was a baptism into context, sensation, and life became tangible, even precious.
"Prove it!" "Show me your evidence!" "What makes you think you would know!" The proverbial pat on the head that conveys the other's superiority and knowing and our child like simplicity they tolerate. Our world demands facts, cause and effect, evidence and proof. I cannot prove these threads of hope or the whispers of life calling each to arise and take hold of their dream. I cannot even say I have or can always believe. I cannot say when "post" is clicked that doubt does not batter me. I simply cannot prove that you and I fill a desire in the universe, a unique niche and calling, a dreaming made alive for a purpose. I am not so wise.
I know when I laid my body down into this snow melt running river, the riverbed sand clinging to my hair and the tiny pebbled river rocks dancing under my body, I thought I felt my heart stop. And instead of "w-a-t-e-r" scratched in the palm of my hand, sand, water, rocks and cold etched in the silence of the heart's brief stillness "y-e-s". My own baptism into context, sensation and life becoming tangible. And so, my simple thread, for however many or few the seasons remain, will be to spell "y-e-s" with threads, whispers and even tears. Maybe one day an echo. Maybe another's hand reaching for mine beneath the pump's or river's streaming water.
I do believe.
