Mystical Forest

I love this quiet time in the morning when I meditate, keeping companionship with myself, and hooking up to the energies swirling around….

The energies of velvety night, softly fraying at the edges of the branches of the trees and the bowl of the horizon into a gentle, delicate, purple lace, the slow, soft “drip, drip” off a gutter outside my open window letting me know it rained a little in the night, my warm blankets and fluffy pillow that I have myself propped among, typing away, looking forward to this day, planning it out in my mind.

I engage in the energies of meditation, where I consciously breathe, letting thoughts float up and out until my mind is still as a placid lake. When I return from this whole/holy, connection, I once again engage my senses, and I now hear the morning birds, calling up the sun. Ah!… yes, thank you little birds, there will be another day!

As I revel in this glorious solitude, where so much is happening and I am profoundly not alone among all these creative energies as they flow about me – the lacy trees, the refreshing rain, the companionable birds, the myriad thrilling mental engagements of the day – I cannot imagine being lonely, and I wonder at people who say they are.

How can one ever be lonely if truly engaged in life? And why have life if not to fully engage in it? Your soul knew a purpose when coming to this life, and loneliness is nowhere in that contract.

Glorious solitude is central to the experience – within solitude you discover who you are. You can make the choice to fall in love with yourself and with LIFE anew, every single day!

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Visit my web sites:

BlytheAyne.com

ALightHere.com

Almost 7:30 a.m. The light steals very, very shyly about the forest… winter light begins to reclaim its dominion earlier and earlier.

The sky edges away from a color not found on any palate… a kind of black-purple-blue, tinged with green. It fades and fades, until the predawn light rolls in, and all becomes familiar as the keys to the Kingdom of Light are handed over to the day.

The rain that has steadily fallen all night has stopped, and the remaining drops play a slow syncopation off the gutters and deck, a patient metronome.

I hear the river rushing several hundred feet distant, I see in my mind’s eye the river rocks becoming polished… incomparable coins in the river bed, each unique. They lay at the bottom of the clear, rushing water, watching the sun and moon and stars, a clock face, above.

Song birds look for their reflection in the little pools that eddy along the side of the hurrying water, while the stealthy coyotes come to the water’s edge, looking over their shoulders. Always pursuers, always pursued. One by one they lean down to drink the cold, cheerful water while a sentry keeps watch.

This is my winter forest.

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Visit my web sites:

BlytheAyne.com

ALightHere.com