I wish I could be there with you just to share some tea.
I’m not sure if you’d prefer chamomile or lemon and ginger.
Either way, something warm to lighten your heavy waters, soaked and glistening with a gentle kindness and honeyed sweetness. To make you feel, even for a few moments, the stillness of its calm syllables against your throat, to wash away with love the bitterness of your sorrow.
Many may wish you freedom, choosing the bird and its skies as their motif, but I do not.
Even the bird knows it is foolish to nest its future in the abstract, the uneven. For what is a bird in a world that howls and flings its discomforts mercilessly? Indiscriminately?
How do our flailing feathers survive its unsettling winds, and not be plucked into its loneliness without strong roots to anchor us into the folding of our earth, where all begins and ends?
No, I wish you a deep place within yourself where you are as firm in your steadiness and grace as a banyan tree; leaves broad shouldered and thick skinned to weather the fullness and futility of our seasons.
Allow the love to soak in the sun that unswervingly filters into your life.
Anchor yourself within it.
Roam within it.
We all have our demons that throw darts at hope wherever it dangles; tar that moulds itself hardheavy in words like
These words remind us of how easy it is to fall prey to the fragility of self, as if we were a mere flick of a chef’s wrist as she bruises open our yellowed yolk.
But we are more than ourselves. We are the light that fractures across the horizon, that guides others and ourselves into the night, refracting and reflecting all that we touch and see.
So do not fear the light. Let the stars into your night. Let them in though your palms are too puffed from cupping away your tears to soak their warmth.
Your tea awaits. Its elbow longs for the softness of your curled fingers, its whispering rims the caress of your praying lips.
You – or whatever you is present today – are enough.