Breathe in.
Breathe out.
How the daffodils look pretty.
The clouds are sweeping the sky.
Hear the lullaby of the birds.
See the dawn arise.
The fading stars sparkling, yearning to embrace the light.
Here we are again,
My soul and I.
_______
She lay there, all bundled up… my Soul. Blanketed in accrued time… years piled up. She seems content in her weighted slumber, but truly she is empty. Unfulfilled. Dormant.
A breeze comes over her. It’s the first time in decades, but she rolls over wishing to remain undeterred in hibernation. Wind cascades over Soul once again, frustration builds in the disturbance, she was happy in a dreamland where she is dancing free.
She knows she has been interrupted from her dream, her happy place. At least there she is free. The breeze picks up, and she realises.
This. This is the moment she can breathe again.
Awaken from inertia.
It’s like the wait of these years founded in Her Doing has left Soul paralysed. But this, this is the moment, this beckoning to be woken. So subtle. This purposed and pending moment.
With sleepy eyes she yawns and begins taking off the covers. Layer by layer. They’re so heavy as she labours, sapped by the weight of each one. The striking realisation she had a cozy cocoon, now to be left behind.
It’s cold. And this is hard. Maybe she should just roll over instead? Surely this home is happy in the Doing? Why now? What has stirred within and woken me from this repose?
The unravelling of dawning thought: Her.
Soul could do this dance though enervated, this tug to move isn’t strong enough.
Yet.
But Soul heeds to Wind’s whisper and slowly arises. Yielding to the gentle pull of movement. She sits with dangling feet, not ready to embrace the floors cold touch. Pushing through, yawning, languid from years beauty sleep Soul reaches up and out. Arms heavy with longing, grasping the breeze and it’s gentle bidding.
She’s aching to move, it must be destiny. The returning of Her.
But Soul twinges from inactivity. Stretching into the deep, fulfilling elastic pull of tension, leaning into the discomfort to find the release.
Wind has gained momentum, a picking up. Drawing in closer with outstretched arms, calling Her depth into its depth. Inviting an enveloping, where Wind can carry Soul and her weary head.
The clouded palms cupping Soul’s face, imparting peace and assurance.
“Let’s go,” Wind whispers, “She’s waking up. It’s your time to arise sweet Soul. See how the light is coming in through Her windows? She’s found Being.”
Soul’s posture shifts, and sighs the deepest of breathes, unknowingly held for what seemed like eternity. Glancing through the windows, she spies the birthing rays of revelation streaming in. Steady and soft.
Soul rubs her eyes a little more, calling into focus the sky, the slow sips of nature, the oxygen to her being.
With the sweetest of exhales she tethers to Her and they become one.
“Oh, wow.” Soul says, “There she is…”
And in an echo they both hear: “Here I am.”