“For a moment, I expected the impossible.
And then it happened.”
Where are you?
Wild winds whipping up against a desolate landscape. Cold skies and a raging heart. You have been uprooted. Torn from the comfort of the ordinary, you have been exposed.
But do not go blind, little dove. Look around you. The air is clearing. There are dolphins swimming through the rivers inside Venice. There are people who can suddenly see stars. You have never seen a magic quite like this inside the world. Did you know that it has been here all along?
You are laid bare, but be brave. Ships are always safest in a harbor, but that’s not what they’re meant for. Live boldly. Raise your words, and not your voice. Speak kindly and remember there is nourishment in stillness.
Look at our world, now the mother of exiles. How she harbors each of us—give me your tired, your poor. Give me your hungry and your burdened. Give me the sorrows of a changing face, beneath a galaxy of windswept stars.
Do not go deaf, little dove. Else we must roust you with the loudness of our song. Else we must come unto you like storms and wash you of your fears so that then, finally, you will learn to love the rain. A seed must crack before it can begin to grow, and storms make trees take deeper roots. Remember, light cannot exist without the darkness.
Our lives here are sublime. As are the lives of those who’ve come before how they’ve departed, leaving wisdom in their wake. Are we too evolved for learning? Too impassive for new growth?
Do not go quiet, little dove. Isolation isn’t loneliness, and fear is just another opportunity for love. Hate and anger, they are chased away by kindness, and despair is just another word for hope. What matters at the end of the day isn’t the storm, but rather how well you withstood it, and the person you became.
Breathe in your courage, and exhale your fear. Because, little dove, this is the part where you find you who you are.