Dear tender self,
You are an unsent letter wrapped in an ancient envelope. A tea-stained seal never fully closed. Calligraphy etches on the onionskin of your sensitivities. Each layer of you is unraveling swiftly. It is necessary to find the crease of rest in the trifold of expansion. You are not lost. Healing is a passage of timelessness. Rest in a sampling of moss; it is always dear and true.
Let yourself walk through the variegated fields of dreams and see symbols rise in the wake of storms. See the now, held tenderly on the stream of precious processing. An abundant wealth of wisdom resides in the textured layers of your story. Let your mind braid lavender wands and rest in the nook of an evergreen. Lean into the wind and anchor into the crevices of a rock. Become flora and bend to the hum of the universe. Let the inner you, be gently swayed. Resting is more than okay; it is necessary.
The rings of your story connect with wisdom’s growth and forever speak to the pillars of the earth. Melt into the colors of driftwood washed upon the shores of your daydreams. Find the ebb and flow and the rhythm of your voice. Let the sandy grains of yesterday fade and teach well. See the shadows as teachers & let the star of inner light guide. The letters in your story have just begun to unfold.