The Messengers

And in my darkest moment, fetal and weeping’
The moon tells me a secret, my confidant
As full and bright as I am, this light is not my own and
A million light reflections pass over me

It’s source is bright and endless, she resuscitates the hopeless
Without her we are lifeless satellites drifting


Today, I have a need to write my heart on these virtual pages, open that window little more.

This is my love letter to inspiration and people who deliver it.

I get visited by moments, where upon seeing, reading or hearing something beautiful, I feel my own life somehow connected in this quilt of overwhelming emotion and expression.
From music, paintings, books or little flower growing in pavement crack. Beautiful wrinkled hands of a smiling stranger, their eyes filled with knowing kindness and gray streets of the city that embraced me as its true daughter, offering peace to restless heart.
That gets me jolted from everyday trance and bustle of endless aspirations. I stop and I can feel warm tears flowing down my cheeks. I cry from beauty.
I get filled with this strange happy sadness and realization that I am surrounded by complex minds and fingers of individuals. The messengers.

They paint, compose, think, build and weave their own letters to universe, reaching me on its journey.
They are reminding me I am alive, leaving me breathless. I am reminded of my own flawed humanity, telling me to never forget.

I see my mother’s soft hands lift me up to the world. With her kisses building an armor to protect me from harm, preparing me to survive most painful blows, for I am loved. Wide eyed child, smelling of promise.

I see my teenage self, dreaming of first crush and wondering what will become of me, will I make difference in the world, will I be loved?
I see the deepest depths of my despair and loss. I still smell fragrant pale flowers that grew out of moist earth of my darkest hours.
I still carry the loss and communicate with ghosts that follow me.
I see faces of lost ones in the smiles of dolphins, and I love them, still.
I feel their life force seeping through my fingers, into everything I am and everything I create.I did not forget.
I see warm understanding eyes of my lover, his soothing voice coating every nick with the balm of endless patience and quiet constant.I see home in his eyes.

I see faces of my friends, my lovers and my family; ones still here, as well as passengers who stopped for brief moment to teach me a lesson, to add another stone to mosaic of my life.  They inspired me, challenged me, hurt me, loved me, misunderstood me, were misunderstood by me, and loved by me. They made me.
I am the clay, shaped with their loving hands and  nicked and bruised by life experiences. That makes my statue complete, with all its flaws.

As life flashes before my eyes, when I hear beautiful song, when I get moved by a painting, or inspired to create something.  I know that I am leaving  trace of me, every time I stop to hear, see, and take in beauty around me. I carve my life experience by being present.

So my friends, when life gets crazy, stop. Turn around and you will see thousands of messages, created by people just like you and I.  Their life, described through so many ways of self-expression paint their loss, love and their beautiful minds. It is a reminder that you are not alone, that most beautiful flowers grow in darkest places. You are not alone.  I know…..I am loved.
So are you.

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