You wake with a start and the words are there, formed.
Did I dream them, you wonder? (You’re not sure.)
All you know for certain is that you’re being called to open your mouth wide and let these words come tumbling out, these words that say so much about how you want to be and feel.
Peaceful. Confident. Wise. Connected. Renewed. Content. Supported. Free.
As you say the words aloud you feel pulled by something, some unknown something that hasn’t yet made itself visible.
Who are you? You want to cry out, ask, plead.
But you don’t. You keep your mouth closed now, certain that if you push too hard to find the origin of these words they’ll vanish as quickly as they appeared.
You rub your eyes. You’re more awake now, and you can almost see the words circling around you.
Little cloud words. Swirling. Floating in the air above your head. Puffy cloud words.
And then, you hear it. Or you think you do. Music.
Lovely, beckoning music coming from the words. They’re singing a song, just for you:
Come, dance with us. Come, be with us.
Now you’re on the edge of the bed, reaching your arms out, entering the circle of swirling, dancing, singing, cloudy, puffy words.
In an instant of recognition, you know that you are now one of the words. And your word is me.
Me: Peaceful. Confident. Wise. Connected. Renewed. Content. Supported. Free.
In this place, dancing with these words, being amongst them, you feel welcomed. No longer apart.
The words are gently hugging you, telling you, without speaking, that you are a part of them.
And yet, you know that you can’t stay here, all day, dancing with the cloud words.
You can already see the clouds beginning to disperse, become wispy, flow out into a stream, move toward the door as if to leave.
So much you want to hold onto them. Keep them here.
They know this, and in one last swirl around you they speak, without really speaking:
We’re here, always, whether or not you can name us.
Whether or not you believe in us.
Whether or not you can see us.
We are always here for you to dance with.
And then, you watch them dance away.
Out through the crack in the door. Out, somewhere beyond your reach.
You sit down on the bed again. You marvel at what just happened.
And you believe.
You believe that the words are always with you, even when you forget them.
And you believe they always will be.
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