She came with a heart full of hope and desires. Seeds could sprout, leaves unfurl, creatures be born, flowers bloom.
She imagined large. Countless birds could fill the air with song. Fresh perfumes could ride the breeze.
And the images so pleased her that, softly singing, she set to work.
Scoffers would not have believed it was possible. She had, after all, a mere 700-some hours. They would not even have tried.
But she had secrets, and doubt never entered her mind.
What you can believe, you can achieve, the wise ones say. The universe runs on dreams, and is one.
This hour will never come again. For that reason alone, let us be alive in it. Let us note the fall of its light and of its shadows, the juxtaposition of its soft and hard, its smooth and its rough.
Let us feel the temperature and dance of its air against our skin and the solidity and give of the earth beneath our feet.
And as we are alive in it, let it be alive within us, too, so the boundaries between us dissolve and we are all one breathing and one song, joyously singing.
May’s sweet finale begins now with a crescendo of trumpets and bells, its pastel tones rising in joy into the fresh morning air. And the larks and robins pick up the song and fly it across the sky.
May herself waltzes the fields, strewn with violets, daisies and clover, and she sings them farewell: May you flourish, dear children, and thrive. And ribbons of color flow from her feet and the grasses flow to her song.
And it echoes across the forests and meadows, up over the hills, and along all the streams. And it sounds like love and wraps itself softly over all the wee creatures of air, water, land: May you flourish, dear children; I love you. I love you, sweet babies. Live long and thrive.
Imagine being a damsel fly, flitting through an emerald world. Imagine the green rainbow of hues in countless forms and textures, the give and sway of them beneath your feet.
Imagine the enormity of dewdrops, the surprise of them bursting before you. Think of the mystery of spider webs, the wonder of butterflies, looking like airborne flowers.
Imagine being a leaf and hosting the feet of a damsel fly.
Oh, how the Great Yes peers back at its joy, and with what amazing lenses!
Elephant clouds thundered across the sky, laughing so hard that they cried. And their tears splashed, filled with mirth, all the way to the ground, where they slid down the petals and leaves of the flowers.
Then the flowers laughed, too. How could they not? They were bathing in elephant tears!
And although the landscape grew quite dark as the elephants blocked out the sun, the whole earth was merry and filled with such song that no one minded at all.
Once, before time, from the heart of the Great Yes, a mighty desire arose. It was filled with playfulness, passion, and an irresistible urge to create.
“Well, then,” the Great Yes said, “Let there be light!” And just like that, all that ever was, is, or will be came rolling across the cosmos.
This was no limited production. It stretched forever and had no end. It expressed every possible thought, every hue and shade of color, every sound. And each bit of it was alive and free, for the only law it had to follow was the law of Love.
And it danced and sparkled, its energies riding in and out of form in waves of ecstasy, streaming forever with infinite artistry and unspeakable grace.
Let there be no doubt, the daisies proclaim; you are loved. Here, for you, is sunshine and freedom, laughter and joy. Here is the sweetness of summer, brimming with nectar and the fresh scent of grass. Here are the bright, long days and night skies billowing with fireflies and stars, all for you; all for you.
Let it be a stage for the unfolding of your highest dreams, your unfettered play, your most tender loving, for happiness flowing from the depths of your soul.
Embrace this season, dear ones, as it embraces you—in deep celebration and boundless joy.
Buried deep within our DNA memories of the Garden sleep, seeping in wisps into our minds. Once upon a time, we dream, we walked in perfection.
Our hearts leap at the images. But we see the world through labels scrawled by madmen; we have forgotten who we are.
Nevertheless, sweet May comes, her arms filled with beauty that she’s dressed as flowers. And she flings them, these remnants of Paradise, everywhere.
And our hearts leap at the sight of them. And we waken and find ourselves knee deep in truth.
They have no idea that one day strong wings will lift them into the high sky and carry them across thousands of miles. The wild adventures that await them are beyond their imaginations.
Today is more about trust than daring. You start where you are. Tomorrow will take care of itself.
And so they paddle, delighting in the way the silken waters flow past them. This moment holds everything.
And so will the next, and the next. It is enough. It is all.
No matter how simple and plain your outside, a sun bursts with joy in your center. Open yourself; let it shine free.
All it takes is to look with eyes of kindness, a willingness to see that, deep within, we are all the same.
We’re children of the stars, made of them to give the Great Yes a place to be, a new vantage point from which to gaze upon its own infinite breath, to hear its endless symphony eternally unfolding.