Retrieve the girl. Crouch down and hear her. Really hear her. What were the stories she never got to tell? Little ones glow something fierce. In all kinds of ways. What did she glow with then that everyone was too busy to notice? Can you notice now? Can you adjust your seeing so that yours eyes get soft in the right ways? The light of little ones is medicine.
Make offerings to your dead grandparents. Candles. Prayers. Talk to them in the small moments of stillness. Tell them about your life now. The way you did when they were here. There are blessings that only beloveds on the other side can give. Radiant strands of light to guide our lives. You will always be on the good and sacred road. Open the channel to receive their special kind of light.
Decide to believe in fairytales. There is a reason we have so many stories of love returned home after a very long time away. Or miracle healing that seemed ridiculous to pray for. We are story people. It is in our bones. Magic rests in our ancient stories. Reach in deep and pull out the myths that are begging to wrap you in their webs. Whisper them. Chant them. Sing them. We are here to pass the stories. Don’t drop them.
Greet the armed and icy men at the gate, melting. The ones holding spears and deep lines of hidden sorrow on their face. Wear nothing but the soft corners of your mouth turned up. Armor isn’t meant to be worn forever and all the time. And you are not in a battle anymore. Greet the hard places with a growing warmth. The heat of the heart unfurled is blinding and radiant. Let it crack through the ribs and tear you open. Watch the hardened ones melt and crack into dew and luminescence. The ones who can’t crack open with you will run the other way in fear. Better this way.
Trust your opening as guarded by a higher protection. There are certain forces that watch over the hearts that crack open and give their bodies to the golden sacred glow. When the armor drops, you come home. Cracked open hearts have forgotten the language of withholding, the movements of shame, the cries of separation. These hearts are folded in a great unseen web of love. These hearts move among the mysteries. Give your life to be one of them.
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