The frightened child whimpers in the cold whereupon rivers unfold that carry the frightened one back to the waters of the soul – many are the paths of the rivers.

Angels glisten in the waters of the soul; we are bathed in awe and light, in wonder and peace.

Spare the disbelief in miracles for they are reminders of eternity and emblems of the waters of the soul.

We stopped at a stream along the way and refreshed ourselves, restoring our joy, basking in the magnificence surrounding us and dipped our cups once more into the waters of the soul.

Fear drives the body out of necessity; calm emanates from the soul.

Rounding the bend where the road turns inward again and again in a lifetime, we gaze upon the face of what we fear most only to discover that it evaporates into nothingness; in death there is no fear.

Open heart laughing at life’s shadows painted on the canvas of the mind; open arms gathering the light that creeps into the recesses where fear is hiding and opens exotic terrain to view.

Once in a great while, fear slides between the cracks and awakens me in the night; the fear dissolves in the light, for we are travelling under Heaven’s umbrella.

Our destiny takes us to the edge of our comfort zone and beyond, where we learn to handle the fear we have chosen to overcome.

The rivers of fear that flow through the core of our being sometimes swamp us and deter us but never bind us; we are free beings of light whose job it is to pursue freedom and light!

Listen to the wind moving among the branches on winter’s watch: finding frosty remnants of summer’s growth to remind us of all the richness we are given.

Frosty leaves invite the sun to warm them.

The storm is gathering: feel the wind seeping through the cracks and howling loudly in the trees with winter’s approach.

Winter’s treasures move deep and swift and stir the earth for springtime’s growth.

Glacial melt remembers the mountains in springtime and winter’s fiercest blast and resists permanence; grief also melts.

Melt the ice chunk by biter chunk until the heart is free from the cold and winter’s tale is done.

Radiance breathes on a wintry afternoon.

Among the stars, winged prayers are heard, though softly whispered in the quiet hours.

Quiet places calm fears that creep like icicles ever downward, wrapping themselves around the heart, surprising the fearless; autumn’s sweet scents evoke a taste of freedom not yet measured.

Quiet is the mind whose whisperings are softened by endeavors with all sincerity to be at peace with all creation.