On the trail when I see a sign like this, I don't stand in dismay, staring at it, wondering what I might have done to warrant its closure. Did I walk too vigorously? Did I stray from the trail? Was I too frequent or unusual with my foot traffic? Ridiculous. No. I just find an alternate route and keep walking. I trust the closure for it's own sake. I look for emerging wildflowers. I befriend the trail, as is. It's time to apply the same logic to my life. When a relationship ends. When a shift happens. When a trail closes. I don't need to examine myself to the nth degree. I can just see it for what it is. Trail closed. And walk on.
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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