Bodhi told me today how I came to be his mom. He didn't choose me. He was sitting in God's hand and God looked out and saw me (through some mirror that allows God to see into the hearts of people) and saw my heart was crying. So God took a deep breath and blew Bodhi into my tummy where he kicked and kicked and kicked until he was born with eyes wide open.
When everything looks bleak and the darkness cramps against the cold, it takes courage to simply look out from imagined isolation toward the wide horizon of beauty available in every moment. It takes courage to lean into the sea of life and trust the tide. When weary limbs no longer support us, it takes courage to trust our inner buoyancy and float. It takes courage, in the face of darkness, to remember the light and sit in all our apparent blindness and listen, silently, to the still, small whisper within. It takes courage, in that dark hour, when nothing else remains. Eyes closed. Eyes opened. A glimpse, a memory, a fleeting vision of a light so bright it blurs the borders of things seen and things perceived into a comprehensive wholeness of being. It takes courage.
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