Sunday Letters – Page 18 – Notes from the Woods

The Watering Hole

I saw a picture of a beautiful oasis this week. Smack dab in the middle of a dry, barren land, an island of lush greenery surrounded a large pond. Animals were on its shore, drinking, wading, playing in it. The trees around it held birds who were squawking and calling.

A watering hole, giving life to all who came to its banks.

A little later, I stepped out my kitchen door to see the season’s first little flowers, wee crocuses, singing their joy. I breathed in the sight of them and felt as if I had just surfaced from a dive into deep, dark waters. Spring is my oasis. Out of the hard and frozen ground, suddenly flowers grow. Finally, there is light and life and color and song in the world again.

But Spring isn’t my only oasis. I could make a long list of favorite things, of the kinds of experiences that wake me. Life holds a countless number of them. It’s just a matter of recognizing them, and deciding to dwell in one of them for a little while. They’re places where all the dreams and stories that spun themselves across your mind as you were finding your way across the barren places suddenly disappear. And in their place, you see that you are alive in a world of wonders and mysteries. And, to your amazement, you are glad to be here, in the midst of it. Even though some of its mysteries look dark and tangled. Even though you can’t make sense of it all. You don’t care. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you are alive in it. Alive!

You can breathe yourself there, you know. A couple times a day, remember to take a deep breath, and as you do, think of life. Not your mind’s thoughts about the various dramas of your particular life, but about life itself. Livingness. That’s all. Just breathe and think of life. Make it a practice; do it whenever you think of it. Watch what happens. Do it every day. Just breathe, and think “Life.”

We’re all feeling a lot of stress these days. It’s a hard patch of ground for everybody on the planet right now. We’re all thirsting for peace and sanity. We’re all needing an oasis. And each of us has one, and it can be triggered by anything at all. It’s a simple state of mind. You’re just breathing, after all, feeling breath breathe you, aware of life, of aliveness, and nothing else. For that one moment, all the stories and dreams have faded away.

It’s a healing experience, this draft of living water and clear air. It cleanses and revives you. And you go forth on your journey refreshed and stronger.

I’ve noticed the lengthening of the days this week. That’s another point of joy for me, the earlier rising of the sun and its later setting. I find myself automatically taking a deep breath when I notice them. And my neighboring chipmunk has reappeared, too. So many things are keys to the doors of perception, to the beautiful oasis that’s right here. Right here.

Isn’t that amazing?

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Gero Birkenmaier from Pixabay}

Joy, Regardless

The park served me well, treating me to the sight of the first robin I’ve seen this season. To my absolute delight, I managed to snap a decent photo of her, fat with eggs, on the branch of a pine tree, I got a shot of a daffodil bud, still tight, but beaming its yellow in the midst of its thick green and blue-green leaves. And right in a tangle of the winter-dried brush of the butterfly garden, I spotted a glorious little crocus. The lake held mallards and geese swimming together past the pine woods. My photos of them weren’t clear, but the sight is bright in my mind.

For all those moments when I’m looking through the camera’s lens, I give thanks. They lift me out of my musings and let me see nature’s beauty and grace.

Nevertheless, I looked at the world differently today than I had in the past when springtime began.

I used to think of Spring as a sign of renewal, a message that life on the planet would rise, even in the face of a worldwide catastrophe. Some fragment would remain, to begin again, even if it took eons. Now I’m no longer so certain. I suppose that it’s still possible. Somewhere, in some undiscovered pocket of wilderness, perhaps a small tribe could escape the devastation currently assaulting us from so many directions on so many levels. God is great, as my friend Modoulamin often reminds me. And we are merely humans, however arrogant in our ignorance we are.

When I got home, I opened my quotes file to see who it was that said we should live every day as if it is our first, or our last. The name Mary Atwood comes to mind. But it’s not showing up in my search. (Whoever it was, thank you.)

I never did find it. But I did find one on appreciation that speaks to the point I want to make. I was reminded again at the park today that this moment that I am alive. This one, where we dance on the brink of extinction not only of ourselves, individually, but of the whole curious, amazing human species. Forever.

Here’s the quote I found:

“Love is made up of three unconditional properties in equal measure:

1. Acceptance
2. Understanding
3. Appreciation

Remove any one of the three and the triangle falls apart.Which, by the way, is something highly inadvisable. Think about it — do you really want to live in a world of only two dimensions?

So, for the love of a triangle, please keep love whole.”
― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

If you’re going to live as if today is your first day, or your last, what you’ll be living in is, at its core, love.

On your first day, you wholly accept every still-unlabeled bit of sensory data that dances into your awareness. You understand without question that you have arrived in a wondrous place. You appreciate its intensity and motion.

On your last day, you bring the whole of your life experience with you as you take in the world for one last time. You accept it, in all its complexity and dimensions. You understand that it has had meaning for you and has grown you. You appreciate the reality of all the experiences that brought you to these last few moments, here, on this mysterious planet, at this most poignant time.

So, as I stood in the woods at the edge of the lake, thinking for the first time in my life, that we who are living now may be the Final Edition of our species, that it’s truly possible, I let myself feel the sunlight on my cheek as I watched the emerald-headed mallard and his mate paddle along the lake’s edge. I smiled, remembering the robin I saw moments ago, and the lemon-yellow daffodil bud and the bright crocus shining in the weeds. And my heart filled with gratitude and joy for the sheer miracle of living. Regardless.

Warmly,
Susan

Joy Crumbs: 40 Things to Do When You Need a Lift

Here you go. A list of little joy crumbs to munch on when you need a change of perspective.

Stand in a patch of sunshine and think about how far away the sun is.
Look at the stars and think about how our sun is one of them.
Wonder if someone somewhere is looking at our sun right now and thinking that it’s such a distant star.
Feel the air brushing your face and think about how it’s always in constant motion.
Look at a cat or a bird or a fish or a dog, and think how amazing they are.
Think about elephants and koala bears and all the wondrous animals that share our world.
Look at trees and realize they are alive, breathing and growing, just like you.
Watch your fingers move and think about all that makes them work.
Wonder about where all the seeds came from.
Think about how little you are compared to some things, how gigantic compared to others.
Think about how much you have learned since you were five years old.
Listen to some music and be amazed at its power to affect you.
Think about how deep the ocean might be.
Think about how we’re all so much like each other and how, even so, every one of us is absolutely unique.
Look at clouds and realize they are floating, right up there in the sky.
When you eat, think about where whatever you’re eating came from and what it took to get it to you.
Think how your heart keeps beating and your lungs keep pumping air.
Wiggle your toes and laugh at them.
Think about all the inventions mankind has made.
Think about mountains.
Think about all the stories we have passed on for generations.
Think about the magic of fire.
Think about sunrise.
Imagine the fragrance of freshly mown grass.
Think how amazing it is that you are alive.
Think about what it’s like to touch someone.
Wonder where your hair comes from.
Feel your face smile.
Think about how you learned to read.
Imagine the sound of a ringing bell.
Imagine your imagination has no limits at all.
Think about all the feelings you can feel.
Think about your favorite place.
Think about a favorite person’s laugh.
Think about a field full of flowers.
Imagine playing your favorite game.
Imagine the texture of silk.
Think about all the sounds animals can make.
Imagine feeling inspired.
Imagine feeling grateful, right this very minute.

Now carry on!

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Syaibatul Hamdi from Pixabay}

Another Day

You know that moment when you first wake up in the morning? You realize you’re here again and begin to orient yourself. What time is it? What day is it? What do I have to do?

And then you begin it. Another day.

Right then, in that little slice of time when you step into the day before you, a magical opportunity lurks. And if you grab it, it will make all the difference.

It’s right there, ready to shine its light the instant you give it your attention. All you have to do is notice it, nothing more. Do only that, and its invitation to you is clear.

What it offers is a ray of joy wrapped as a bright ribbon around this gift of another day.

Notice it.

Then, if you’re wise, you’ll accept it, with gratitude and the determination to carry its ribbon of light with you into the coming hours.

You can create your own gesture of acceptance. Maybe you’ll imagine a glistening ribbon and see yourself taking it in your hand and tying it somewhere that you’ll notice as you go about your day. Imagine it circling the little finger of your left hand, for example, where its light will glint at you now and then as the day unfolds.

Or maybe you’ll note the invitation and say a phrase of some kind to acknowledge your acceptance.

One of my friends says out loud, “I am open, willing, and ready to receive all the gifts the Universe will bring to me today.” It’s a good one. You may want to try it on, see if it fits you.

Personally, I speak Psalms 118:24. “This is the day which the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it.” It fits well with my mission of being a Joy Warrior.

Some days, when I wake in a cloud of darkness, repeating it feels like a determined commitment that I make in spite of the circumstances I see the day holding. On those days, saying it is a challenge. I am committing my will to finding joy and gladness in the day–however daunting the task may seem.

Then I take a deep breath, let it out, and see what is good and beautiful, right at this very moment. The challenging circumstances which I’m facing don’t disappear. But they shrink radically, and I’m no longer lost in their oppressive cloud. I can take the day’s events a moment at a time, and do them well, and still see the goodness and beauty around me. What was a cloud becomes nothing more than dust dancing beneath my feet.

That’s pretty good magic in my book.

All you need to do is notice the invitation to recognize this, another day, as a gift.

Then accept it, claiming it as yours.

Warmly,
Susan

The Rent We Pay

I’d given up on finding the small volume of Kenneth Patchen’s drawings after searching through my bookshelves several times. But then, of course, by accident, I finally ran across it. I was looking for it because something Patchen scribbled in one of his paintings describes perfectly the way so many of us are feeling these days.

His paintings look like something you might have taped to your refrigerator door, a masterpiece by your favorite five year old of some imaginary creature painted with wide brush in simple, bright colors.

The particular one I was looking for is a painting of a big, round-eyed ,smiling face on a body that looks, oh, maybe a little like a bear or a dog. “The World’s Not Enough Really,” it says in an upright cursive scrawl, “For the Kind of Rent We Have Have to Pay to Live in Us.”

Isn’t that the truth! Sometimes the price for living in us seems excruciatingly high, and the world itself not enough compensation for our suffering. Especially this world. Especially now.

Yeah. Sometimes the rent seems awfully high.

But let me tell you the title of the little book that holds Patchen’s paintings. It’s called Hallelujah Anyway. It’s full of whimsy and bitterness and a profound kind of love. Take these lines, for instance, from another one of the book’s paintings: “Inside the flower, there is room for every sower, whether he be stark monstrous mad as all your ‘Leaders’ are or only some poor innocently crazy one who in his uncontrollable fear would deface and topple every last shrine and tower that are in anyway at all still meaningful to mankind.”

The copyright on the book is 1960, by the way–in case you thought he was describing our current reality.

But look at how that last proclamation begins: “Inside the flower, there is room for every sower.” Even, he says, for those who are monstrous and those filled with destructive fear. I don’t know about you, but personally I find that a deeply insightful and compassionate view.

I have another small volume of Patchen’s, too, a collection of his exquisite love poems. The world may not have been enough compensation for his suffering, but the love he felt for his Miriam was more than enough and let him embrace the world, despite its horrors.

“Any person who loves another person,
wherever in the world, is with us in this room–
Even though there are battlefields.”

That’s the ultimate answer, you know: Love. The saving grace of Love. Even if it’s for someone you have never met. Even it it extends no farther than your doorway. Even if it’s no more than a barely glowing ember in the center of your heart.

Let yourself sit in its light, however dim that light may seem. Let it bathe you with its reality until you feel its freeing power, until you can look upon the sorry places of the world and shout “Hallelujah!” anyway.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by AD_Images from Pixabay}

A Love Story, and Cookies

I was looking through some old files the other day and came across the following story that I first published seven years ago for Valentine’s Day. I thought it would be fun to send it to you today, with my affection and thanks for the way you make my heart smile . . .

A Love Story, and Cookies

I’ve built a Goldilocks Room for us today. Not too hot, not too cold, no rain, sleet, wind or snow. Just perfect temperatures and gentle breezes all the way around. Come in, and help yourself to the feel-good cookies and well-being tea over there on the table. As you can see, they both come in an assortment of your very favorite flavors. Have all you want. There’s an endless supply.

And while you enjoy your treats, let me tell you a little story. It’s a love story, actually, in honor of of Valentine’s Day. Like you, I’m a romantic at heart. I get all gooey inside when True Love triumphs over all the uncertainties that life hurls in its way.

Those uncertainties are growing exponentially these days. When I was a little girl, the telling of love stories was a simple matter. Every story was a variation of boy-meets-girl, they fall in love, get married, and live happily ever after. The end.

Now it could be boy meets boy, or boy-turned-girl meets boy, or girl-turned-boy meets boy, or, according to the latest gender classifications, any of 50-some variations. In the near future, I’m told, it may even be human-of-any-gender meets tender-hearted robot, programmed with the highest levels of emotional intelligence.

Those who wrote love stories in the last century didn’t have to worry about what pronouns to use, whether “he and “him” or “she and “her” would offend. Now you have to wonder whether a sensitive robot would be hurt if you called it, well, “it.”

But so be it. Love, I suppose, shouldn’t be roped in by arbitrary barriers. It should be free to any and every heart, because life is tough, and we all need all the love we can get.

So, in our story, A meets B and they fall madly in love. They laugh and walk together. They like the same kinds of meals and fun. They talk into the wee hours of the night, amazed at how similarly they look at life, how much they have in common. They love holding each other’s hands, and when they kiss, the world melts away. They envision shared tomorrows that stretch on and on across the years, and after a while, they pledge their hearts to one another with solemn promises to see things through together, come what may.

So far, it could be anybody’s story. But this one has another happy twist, because these two found the key that kept their promises strong and saw them through the rough spots, come what may. They learned the Secret of Appreciation, of looking for things to respect and admire in one another, and they told each other what wonderful little things they saw in each other day after day after day.

And so each became to the other a treasure, a source of endless beauty and joy. They saw each other’s strengths and sweetnesses, they saw the little habits and gestures and expressions that made their partner unique. And every day they would say to each other, “You know what I like about you?” And the years unfolded, filled with their friendship and kindness and love. And they lived happily ever after until the end of days, and their love made the world a happier, better place.

The end.

Now you know the Secret, too. And it works for every kind of relationship there is—for lovers, for friends, for bosses and their employees, for coworkers, for parents and kids, for you and the clerk at the grocery store or the stranger on the street. Notice, appreciate, and say so, and make the world a happier place.

Wishing you love,
Susan

^{Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay}

Name that Tune

Did you ever watch the TV show “Name that Tune?” It was popular decades ago, and its revival is now, I’ve discovered, on YouTube. It’s a game show where the contestant’s challenge is to name a song’s title after hearing only a few bars of it played.

I thought of it today when I got infected with an ear worm. Ear worms aren’t the kind of worms that you find crawling through your grass or on the sidewalk after a rain. In fact, they’re not worms at all. They’re the name of the phenomenon where you get a song or a few phrases of a song repeating in your head over and over.

Luckily, when I noticed what was happening, I remembered the trick for stopping it. There’s a couple of them, but what works best for me iis getting busy at a task that requires a little bit of concentration. The next best is repeating a single syllable over and over to interrupt the circuitry.

Later, when I realize my action had worked, I got to thinking about how ear worms are kind of like the stories we play in our heads, repeating them over and over. Like songs, our “story-worms” have an emotional component. Suppose you’re upset by something that’s happened in your life.

You keep playing its song over and over, as if it would somehow change if you focused on it enough. You start to look for supporting evidence of why you’re right to feel the way you do. And sure enough, examples come to you, and your song has even more layers and depth.

That’s how story-worms work. And here’s how to short-circuit them.

First, you have to “name that tune.” You have to recognize that a story-worm is playing in your brain. Maybe its song is a sad one about loss or limitation. Maybe it’s one that thunders with anger, or buzzes with irritation. Call it out. Notice it. If you can, name the emotion. If you can’t find its name, figure out where you feel it in your body. Does it have a color? A texture? A weight? See it for what it is–a feeling about the song that you’re repeating in your mind. Then decide to interrupt it.

You can use the same techniques that work for ear worms. Get busy with something that requires a some attention. Set an intention: When I finish this, I will be free to see the world in a whole new light. Then do something. Do a crossword puzzle, draw a picture, do some math, or get physical and see how many push-ups or jumping jacks you can do. Be inventive. Press your thumbs against each finger on your hands one at a time while you count to one hundred with each tap–and smile as you do it.

If you’re not up to any of those, try saying “blah-blah-blah-blah-blah” to yourself over and over whenever the story-worm starts crawling through your mind.

Even if you believe your story is important and true, hearing it play endlessly is a real drag. It wastes your time and energy. It keeps you from hearing the songs of love, and trust, and faith, and possibilities that are just waiting to be heard. It’s just a matter of naming the tune and then turning your dial to a different station.

Wishing you endless beautiful melodies,

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Harut Movsisyan from Pixabay}

Who’s Directing this Show?

“Never doubt the reality of your own inner greatness,” I heard a guy on the radio say. Nothing inside me felt especially great at the moment and I caught myself kind of rolling my eyes at the statement.

But then I thought about it a bit. First of all, I asked myself why did I automatically respond to the statement the way I did, with such a smirk on my face.

Because, I explained to myself, it’s sounds hokey, like something some slick motivational speaker in a thousand-dollar suit would say. “Well,” I said back to myself, does that make it untrue?” Ah. That was the key question. Do we possess inner greatness or not?

I had to admit to myself that of course we do. It’s just a little scary to admit it. You might have to live up to the idea of being great if you believed it was true. And besides, wouldn’t thinking you were great make you awfully prideful and pompous? Not really, the other side of me said; not if you were genuinely great.

“Hm,” I said. “Well then, what is it about us that gives us our inner greatness?”

And the other half of me said quietly, “Your ability to make your own choices, to decide who you want to be. What role will you play today? Victim or Victor? Enslaved or Free? What demeanor will you wear? One of fear or one of love?”

That was, I decided, a pretty good answer, and I thought about it a little more. I saw how the roles we play aren’t who we truly are; they’re the outward expressions of our choices.

We ourselves are the ones who choose which roles we’ll play today, and how, here on the world’s stage. Our true self is above the roles, the director of the show. Everybody is the director of his or her own show, choosing how to play each role.

Personally, I believe there’s a director above me, too, a higher voice with whom I may consult. I imagine there’s another director above that one, too, and more above that, stretching into infinity, each one offering guidance to the one below, until, multiple dimensions later, you arrive at the Ultimate Director, who guides all the rest–every actor that’s ever appeared on the stage, or ever will. And not only in this world, but in all the others, too. And the higher the director, the wiser and more loving and powerful and pure. So we can’t even begin to imagine how magnificent the Ultimate One must be. It’s an amazing picture. But that’s just me. I tend to think in images. I’m fine with your view, too. I’d probably find it interesting and amazing.

Anyway (as my dear friend Ruth says, singing the syllables slowly, when she’s ready to change a subject or get back to her point), the important thing is to realize that here, in this world, you get to choose who and how you will be. No matter what your circumstances.

And here’s a hint I adopted on my travels. It’s good to find a way to remind yourself that you are the director who decides how you’ll play your various roles, what mood and mindset you will express. Not necessarily the familiar one that you’ve been playing for a year or months or several hours now. You get to decide any minute, every minute: “How do I want to be now?” And you get to interpret what that means and how you will act it out. Remind yourself!

It’s a wondrous gift and responsibility to know you are in charge, that you get to choose how to play out every minute of your life. Accept it with reverence and humor. Then get out there and play it to the hilt. Because, you know, it’s up to you. Grab those directions and go!

Warmly,

Susan

^{Image by Elisa Way from Pixabay}

Finding the Flashlight

When I walk in the woods, I often follow the trails that the animals have made. Sometimes I’ll find myself deep in the trees and vines and brush when all at once the trail just stops. I have no idea how that happens. It’s a bit of a startling feeling. The trail was showing me where to go, and now it’s not there. It’s up to me to figure out where I am and which way I want to head.

I have had the same experience following a detour when driving. You’re paying attention, following the signs, and after a dozen turns in the route, you realize the signs have simply ceased to be.

This week has been kind of like that. I was tramping through the brush, aware of what was around me, following the signs. Then all of a sudden, the trail stopped, and I was on my own, having to figure things out for myself. Where am I? Who am I? Where do I want to go from here?

My experience told me that the first thing you have to do when you’re in a situation like that is to stop. Just stop. Then look around you, see where you are. Take stock. Who is this me that’s here in this spot? What was her intention?

You already know who and where you are, of course. But when you’re casting your attention outside of yourself, or on inner dreams, sometimes your intention gets lost. The trail’s sudden end wakes you up so you can remember. Oh yes. I am here. And this is what I want to do. I’ll start by heading in that direction.

I woke up this morning feeling as if I had lost the trail. I was disoriented for some reason, confused. So I asked my questions. Where am I? Who am I? What do I want to do?

It was one of those days when I could stay in bed and think about it for a little while. So instead of thinking that I was one of the roles I play, and that she had better get going, I enjoyed the leisure and asked myself which role I wanted to be, which was the primary one, the basic one on which all the others floated.

It took a while for me to decide. I had to dig through a few layers of possibilities to get there. Then finally the answer softly whispered in my mind. “You are a Flexitarian Harmonizer, Susan, currently serving in the Order of Joy Warriors.” It’s an imaginary Order. I made it up. But I promised myself that I would adapt its mantel and learn what there was to be learned.

It hasn’t been easy going. This world we share tests each of us to our limits. The trick is to be sure, as you travel life’s road, that you have always have a flashlight in your pocket with a built-in compass. Mine has the words “Joy Warrior” engraved on it. You alone can read the engraving on yours. (You might have to dig through some crusted-on old stories to read it; but it’s there. And even if you can’t read its name, in your heart you know what it means.)

So, after I remembered my promise to be a Joy Warrior, I asked myself exactly what a Joy Warrior is. Again, the answer whispered. “To be a Joy Warrior is to relentlessly battle against all that stands between you and the full realization that you are one with the Source of Joy, which lives within you.”

At first, I was warmed and inspired by the thought. Then I burst out in laughter. “Well, so far, there’s been no shortage of battles!” I shouted to the whisper. But each one, I realized, brought lessons, and learning, and deeper understanding. And those were treasures I could have acquired in no other way.

Once I’d found my flashlight, I knew it didn’t really matter what I would do in the day ahead. I could step into it with gratitude that I had hours ahead of challenge and rest and play. I tucked that little flashlight into my pocket and went on with my day.

Thinking about you as I write this, I smile. I wish you a light-filled week ahead.

Warmly,
Susan

_{Photo by S. Hermann & F. Richter at Pixabay.com}

When Chaos Reigns

The world’s not an easy place to live in right now. We’re all definitely walking a rather rocky patch of road. In the dark. With a strong wind blowing. And we’re not quite sure where we are.

All of us.

That’s an important thing to remember.

Everybody has his own idea about what is going on. But we’re in epic times and only time itself will reveal what’s ahead. For some of us, the uncertainty is exhilarating. For some, it‘s scarey. For some, it’s infuriating. For others, it’s just misery and stress.

Meanwhile, life goes on, with all of its demands–and then some. And it’s making those demands on us all. On the woman in the next room, on the man next door, on the kids in the back yard and the ones across the world. We’re all being tried. We all just want the wind to stop and for the road to become smooth again. We want to pick up the damn rocks that are making our way so hard and hurl them into the night.

I read a story on social media today written by an unknown author that described our situation this way:

“If you catch 100 red fire ants as well as 100 large black ants and put them in a jar, at first, nothing will happen. However, if you violently shake the jar and dump them back on the ground, the ants will fight until they eventually kill each other.

“The thing is, the red ants think the black ants are the enemy and vice versa, when in reality, the real enemy is the person who shook the jar. This is exactly what’s happening in society today. Liberal vs. Conservative, Black vs. White, Pro-Mask vs. Anti-Mask.

“The real question we need to be asking is who’s shaking the jar . . . and why?”

As I said, everybody has his own idea about what is going on. But we’re all so shook up that it’s easy to cast blame. Remember, it’s dark out right now and we don’t know where we are. In such a time, it is wiser to bond with each other than to wrestle on these sharp rocks. Patience is our ally here, a willingness to take life one step at a time.

Old sureties may be gone, but we have this Now. And we each have the option to choose from the countless possibilities that it holds. As we choose among them, let’s do our best to remember that it wasn’t the person in our presence who’s been shaking the jar. This person, the one before us, is also walking on the rocks.

“This is suffering,” Tara Brach says. “Everybody suffers. May I be kind.” Tuck that little light in your pocket to help you along the way.

Remember to be kind to yourself as well. Remember to ask yourself who, in this moment, you truly want to be. Let yourself wear a small smile; it will bring you comfort and healing. Then square your shoulders and carry on.

There is, after all, an end to night. Dawn is just a bit away, and then we will see more clearly.

Until then, be patient, and be kind.

Warmly

Susan