The Snow, without uttering a single sound, is falling all over the Trees.  I know the Trees love this moment.  They feel dressed in a Winterness they look forward to each year.

The dormant leaves deep within the frozen limbs are rejoicing in this moment, too, as they wait with confident breath for their call to awaken from slumber.  That which will be the future has begun its Song from within the depth of Nothingness where all true things find origin.  Just as, I, in each Moment that reveals itself, find myself being reborn to come forth and reveal the splendor of being alive.

I rejoice in myself as this splendid thing and from this deep knowing, share my joy with all Life.

I love to sing with the thrushes as they build a warm nest for their young. Our voices blend and the sun that hears joins in. It isn’t long before the leaves on the trees fill the air with their rustled whispers and make the World twirl in a brand new discovery of self expression. Joyfully we dance to the cadence of the Eternal Dance.

A very great Depth of Being created me and the thrushes. We were given awareness to show forth the Starlight of our origin in Eternity. In us there is great Peace and an infinite Knowledge that need never be learned or searched for. It is only when I play at being Human that I must work at remembering that this is how I really dance. And, that I sing with the thrushes.

I will tell you today about a small unlit candle that I left behind in a hidden corner of a beautiful garden that I no longer visit.  It is a most magical garden that has gone into shadow for me as I’ve become distracted by the bright bugle sounds that fill my current world.

When I lived in that beautiful garden, the little candle glowed from within me, giving me its light, its warmth, and its guidance.  It resided right here in my heart, and I never knew darkness or confusion.

When I decided to go dream about that other world, I could not take the little candle with me, for in that other world, light is poised from without in a big lamp that sits in a sky that is often blue. Once in a while, that lamp goes away and the blue sky turns an ever deeper blue until it becomes black. When it is black it appears flecked with tiny specks that wink at me and seem to say unknowable things that stir my heart to memories I cannot remember. I call out to them but they are too far to hear.

“Too far,” isn’t that odd?  In my garden there was a Nearness that never faded.  Oh, what spell can I be under to think myself now in such a nonsensical world of gaps and measures?  What spell is this that has me often managing to be beguiled by this nonsense, while so many can never be sober enough to enjoy a world that seemingly captivates them, little realizing that they are missing a little candle that is patiently waiting to light their hearts once more.