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.
