Dear Hops,
Thank you for being here... and that was all I could say when I tried to think of what to type earlier.
Now I say, thank you for reminding me that I have a present, too... and that it is the tense where it healthiest to be being... not tangled in the deficits, but deeply breathing in the moment, welcoming in the calm.
Isolationism has been beckoning, Hops.... loudly. Very, very loudly. I've felt so small and uncovered... weak and frightened. A familiar voice, harsh and grating, full of bitter superiority and condemnation, can reduce me to a fetal position.
But your heart, through your words, encourages me to create a secret garden of my own... of safety, and of peace... with a lovely stone flowering-vine covered entryway (morning glories... multi-colored), thick mohagany door, burnished brass lock, complete with the security of a very large, very heavy, very ornate, ancient key. This key is not hidden, but not all may use it... God, me, and a few treasured friends. To us, the key is weightless as a bit of daisylion fluff and grants entry into my garden with ease. But to those whose life'sblood is bile and venom, it's as an unbudgeable, unliftable stone, over which they'll stumble and fall away, helpless to intrude upon the joyful celebration of life within.
: )
(((((((((((Hops))))))))))))
Love you much,
Carolyn