Cascade

Perhaps that's what I love most about life - the myriad of stories and souls aching to be written and waiting to be heard. Oh, write! If not in words, song; if not in song, in laughter; if not in laughter - in the slide of silent tears wherein no human sound could offer utterance, and the rhythmic inhale and exhale of breath and hope, longing and feeling, understand, absorb, and convey a poetry like none other.

To be vulnerable, raw, open, ready: a pureness of self amenable to past and present, yet boldly willing to write its name into the future.

So, I ask: What book inside of yourself do you have to write? And how will it be written?

Is it in word, conversation, artistic expression? In purpose, passion, beliefs, or family? Is it in serving, listening, solitude, or communication? Oh, so many possibilities, avenues, representations -- all limitless chapters of equal and meaningful consequence.

I say that life is only as large as the intimate awareness of our unique and inherent designs -- a sustaining knowledge, gentle peace, sure purchase, and steady witness that, through opportunity and experience, brings us into certain cognition as to the sanctity of being. Every moment, as it comes, offers up morsels of insight and volumes to write: tender, worthwhile, venerable, true.

Our stories are meant to be shared as much as life invites us to live; for we are all First Editions in various states of editing and yet all worthy of the press.

Print.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl