What shall I write?
About my sense of fulfillment in the Mystery school?
About the shaman in me who is gradually appearing?
About my artistic gifts that are freeing themselves?
Shall I write about my joy at seeing, hearing. feeling, smelling the ocean?
Or about my happiness when I discover that my wounds and problems are just a small part of the totality of who I am?
Stating this stronger: They bring about richness to the whole of who I am, because I would not be able to sense or support another person if I would not know my own impossibilities.
I hear the ocean in her rhythmic everlasting movement, the simmering of the coffeemaker…
Life is good.
The silence of the plants, of the trees, is the silence of my deepest core.
Let me return to this.