third year caela gray

Icy gravel crunches under the rubber soles of your shoes. Faster you march down the weathered pavement, hanging clouded exhales in frustration. Tucked away under the snowy blanket at your sides, tender fields forever patient to Spring’s touch. Ahead, solemn, grey-faced sentinels watch a lonely earth-child pace through their keep.

Stop.

Your mind’s flurry freezes, startled by a voice other than your own. In an instant, the road dissolves into wet cement. Everything stills. Numb fingertips unfurl from clenched fists. Shallow panting slows. Each lung gathers deep chestfuls of air and then, hesitant quietude.

Again, whines of an anxious spirit rise to fill the space.

What is this world? A snowglobe constantly shaken by domineering hands? A prison for souls stuck in monotony and routine, too afraid to be free? A static-screened dream of possibilities and fairytales just around the corner? Why--

Stop.

The chatter cuts. Silence.

Look. Take in the now. Before it becomes the then. Observe the incredibility of what’s sitting right in front of you, of your smallness. Don’t think. Just be. Even in solitude, nothing is separate.

Welcome the Presence of peace.

When the reality of an unknown future and sorrows of a long-gone past begin to burn through hope and love with fear’s fury, hush. Wanting to hurry through uncertainty is only a natural balance of existence. Even the mountains ultimately kneel to the wind.

Cowering under the weight of unfairness, injustice, despair, you remember. This life is only an invitation to pay attention. This moment is enough. This precious, present, singular breath of time is always enough.

Onward.

Remembrance