Dancer
Beside every blade of grass is an angel saying, grow, grow, grow.
What a lovely thought.
We are the blades of grass and if we open our hearts, there is an angel nestled there, cheering us on.
I awoke the other morning thinking, "It's in the quiet where the conversation begins."
I enjoy silence. It's one of the reasons I usually wake up between 4-5 am. It's so peaceful at that time of day. Like a deep, cleansing breath. There's a nourishing emptiness, a space for thoughts to come, an arena for small epiphanies.
I've just returned from an art retreat, once again astonished at the singular creativity living in us all. The volume and level of work created by 11 artists and our mentor and teacher, Rebecca Crowell, during the course of five days would make any curator take notice.
Perhaps it was the setting; Lake Logan, literally nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Outrageously spectacular views. As our nature guide, Glen, exclaimed, "It makes you happy to be alive!"
Perhaps it was walking over to the studio every morning and walking back at night, cell phone flashlights guiding our way.
Perhaps it was the poets and writers who shared our retreat space.
Perhaps it was the sharing, from techniques, to intimate stories, laughter and singing, to poetry.
And maybe, just maybe, it was the perfect combination of spirits, all vibrating harmoniously on the scales of life.
