Stop talking about it.  Stop thinking about what it means and the steps involved, whether or not you’re doing it right or when the stars will align.  The ceaseless monologue has nothing to do with what is real in this moment, so let it go, gently as a feather.

Simply begin.  Choose to surrender and do it.

You do not have to figure this one out.  I promise you, there is no math involved.

Soften and breathe.  Allow the childheart that lives within the miracle of your body to feel the ease and comfort that it’s been craving, that has always been there even when you thought it was missing, or was only portioned out to others.

You do not have to be anything other than you are: Beloved of the elements, adored by Creation in all your imperfect perfection.

Mother Earth has supported your every step and provided every meal.  She’s got you, because you’ve already fallen into the net— and there never was a trapeze anyway.

Father Sun is always there, and whether you see him or not  he loves how you delight in all he has to offer, in the morning and forever.

The rains and rivers will kiss your tired head and let you drink until you’re full.  Let them do this.

The wind will touch you, whisper, shout, and lend you its voice with every breath.  “Here,” he says.  “I’ll help you sing.”

The Moon will watch you as you sleep, and remind you that all things change, become full and empty by turns,  without sorrow though there may be shadows.

Yes, love.  Just lay your head here.  Breathe once.  And now again.  That’s all there is to it.

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