I could not see what was there in the duskiness of this cloudy morning. But it was small, tiny actually, sitting atop some cards on my bedside table.
A slowly sipped cup of hot coffee later, the overcast
morning’s glow suffused the object and I saw that it was the most precious
round golden box, with a fluffy bow on the lid. I’d never seen, certainly never
held or been given before today, the most perfect box that now awaited opening.
I gently lifted the tiny lid - my piqued curiosity exceeding
my personal restraint. And here is what I found inside:
Birdsong! Faint, growing louder, enough to make a
grown woman weep tears of ecstatic bliss.
Love, kindness, a mentor, a song, sisters, books and
sumptuous skeins of natural-hued wool, a rubber stamp from a dear distant
friend, truffle melting on my tongue, roses feeding me aromas, a painting, and greetings
from a kind old service-giving acquaintance! Coming in with rapid electronic
pulses to the muted phone beside me, enough to make a grown woman weep tears of
blessed interconnection.
The soft deep blue of a cloud-bare patch of sky. A
firmament vast enough to hold the rains that cry down on this bountiful earth.
A full moon – ripe and capable of no transgression, becoming
visible again and again, always near even when the “new” phase hides it. An orb
constant enough to obscure loneliness and render its sadness moot.
The
surprising view five years later in an unexpected terrain. The sunset
colors a
balm for any trivial distractions.
Yellow and white appearing as new petals of fleshy
spring in the front yard. Their happy little heads and their soon-to-uncurl
petals a respite and reminder that a loose unfolding trumps fierce clinging.
Peace, serenity, even courage and wisdom. Invaluable
offerings from an utter surrender, a humbling that empowers the salty oceans of
emotion and weaves them into proactive compassion.
Oh, and of course, the coin – desired as symbol, as
evidence, as reminder of things past and travails overcome. The would-be tears happily
watered the inner garden of potential, the growing places that ripen as the
journey moves forward.
How miraculous that the miniature box opened up a whole beautiful landscape!
I choose the gold box, every time. I choose this life and
these loves and I honor the sometimes-thorny path that has led me to this
moment, the only one I have. The only one that counts.
Sometimes it is the simple counting of blessings that
reminds us that the real struggle is over and we’re now in the flowing stream
of our passions!
All blog images created and/or photographed by Jennifer J. Wilhoit unless otherwise noted.
