so how did this girl get to the woman she is today? How did this selfsame small, fierce person waltz down the middle of a runway, unannounced & unregistered as a contestant in a beauty contest, and find herself wearing a tiara 10 minutes later...staring straight into the camera with all confidence and ownership as if she was just taking her rightful place on the throne - er - lawn chair? and grow through years of feeling like the ugly duckling...the square peg...the friend to all, but Known by none...and then turn, and search back through the layers to find that spark of righteousness and rightness and sense of Being and truth...and lighting that torch again - or rediscovering it was there all along - and burning away the deceits she had placed upon her very own heart til it beat just a little weaker...and with apology for it's existence...and then holding that torch within her again with a roar I AM...and this time knowing. exactly. who.she.was.talking.about. How did it happen? how did she she let it slip from her knowing self, the certainty of her steps and purpose? better to ask - how did it happen, the reclaiming...with true hearts guiding and bearing her up and refolding maps and simply celebrating Who She Is, with no apologies and all gentleness and gratitude.
(photo by Brian Gordon Greene/squidoo)
Mourning doves have been camping and flocking in my trees suddenly...a quick turn around a corner could find an in-flight face-to-beak encounter, if one or the other doesn't make fast evasive moves...their song seemingly so sad, giving their name...and yet, so gentle is their voice...so absolutely soft is their belly...even their color invites relaxing...the mourning dove does not look flightworthy in any way, and yet their wings whistle the accomplishment...
so how did this girl get to the woman she is today? How did this selfsame small, fierce person waltz down the middle of a runway, unannounced & unregistered as a contestant in a beauty contest, and find herself wearing a tiara 10 minutes later...staring straight into the camera with all confidence and ownership as if she was just taking her rightful place on the throne - er - lawn chair? and grow through years of feeling like the ugly duckling...the square peg...the friend to all, but Known by none...and then turn, and search back through the layers to find that spark of righteousness and rightness and sense of Being and truth...and lighting that torch again - or rediscovering it was there all along - and burning away the deceits she had placed upon her very own heart til it beat just a little weaker...and with apology for it's existence...and then holding that torch within her again with a roar I AM...and this time knowing. exactly. who.she.was.talking.about. How did it happen? how did she she let it slip from her knowing self, the certainty of her steps and purpose? better to ask - how did it happen, the reclaiming...with true hearts guiding and bearing her up and refolding maps and simply celebrating Who She Is, with no apologies and all gentleness and gratitude.
(photo by Brian Gordon Greene/squidoo)
Mourning doves have been camping and flocking in my trees suddenly...a quick turn around a corner could find an in-flight face-to-beak encounter, if one or the other doesn't make fast evasive moves...their song seemingly so sad, giving their name...and yet, so gentle is their voice...so absolutely soft is their belly...even their color invites relaxing...the mourning dove does not look flightworthy in any way, and yet their wings whistle the accomplishment...
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