I sat and listened to the birds mourn the morning.

Constant songs that echoed across eons waiting for a return in harmony.

I can smell the Frankincense tickling my spirit.

And I can feel the vibrations of the outside day.

Then my mind floats like a lily pad drifting upstream.

My body absorbs the peace of surrender…

As I sit and listen to the birds mourn the morning.

Their song almost in sync with the whistling of the trees.

I can smell the copal as it brushes across my presence.

I can feel the stillness and the weight on my chest as it rises…

When I sit and realize the birds aren’t mourning the morning.

They’re praising their very existence, their song their expression.

And I can smell life.

I am connected to my what is and not my “what if.”

Then my mind wonders and I remember love.

And I no longer listen to the bird that mourns the morning.

Because she sings her own song and knows it’s not mourning…

It’s feeling free.