“What day is it?” asked Pooh.
A.A. Milne
“It’s today,” squeaked Piglet.
“My favorite day,” said Pooh.”
What are you saving for a rainy day – that when it finally arrives, might be too late?
What marvelous life is waiting?
For your routines to settle down, to-do chores to be ticked off, an extra comma added to your bank balance.
Is your most sacred existence taking a back seat to workaday bread and butter?
How often do you grab ahold of a star? Omnipresent, here-right-now everyday magic.
Pause that flurry of hustle and speed, for an instant, to savor a sensual, fluttering breeze against your skin?
Tune your senses to catch that chirr-chirp of a spring robin, alighting up high on the branch you’re strolling under?
Or, spot a sparkling-fresh blossom in your garden – you could swear had not been there a second ago?
“Why do they not teach you that time is a finger snap and an eye blink, and that you should not allow a moment to pass you by without taking joyous, ecstatic note of it?”
Pat Conroy
Mini noticings are rarely dramatic or ostentatious.
Yet, the sublime resides within the simple.
These tiny acts bring us quickly to Presence, brushing the edges of our true nature.
Imagine this. As the piece of God that we are, how profoundly we stir whenever Joy calls our name.
And while you’re waiting for that ‘someday rain’, you can cultivate boldness, begin to craft your own little heaven on earth.
By claiming what most matters to you.
For Life has gifted you, this one, to care for, to steward through this life – this magnificent earth body, this one-of-a-kind soul signature.
You, your very own self, the one you’ve been waiting for.
Might this be the perfect moment to dig out that bucket list and dust off your dreams?
“Happiness, not in another place but this place…not for another hour, but this hour.”
Walt Whitman
“She worked her toes into the sand, feeling the tiny delicious pain of the friction of tiny chips of silicon against the tender flesh between her toes. That’s life. It hurts, it’s dirty, and it feels very, very good.”
Orson Scott Card
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