Wild wet winds buffet your sails,
Dousing your midship in icy displeasure,
Exhilarating freshness, but with a bite.
You trim back your mainsail and hoist up the jib,
Flexing your courage muscle,
Battening down for heavy weather.
Whiplash …
You were made for these times.
Sometimes you feel like a motherless child,
Adrift in a sea of perplexity, without compass or rudder.
Plunged into abyss – then hoisted up topside,
Back and forth, up-down, all around.
Whiplash …
Reaching out for a steady hand,
Just trying to make your way home.
“Your life has been a mad gamble. Make it more so.”
Rumi
God trusted you enough to put a life into your hands,
You were made for these times.
You pick up your flute and you make a joyful noise,
Your Spirit song,
So mighty and so true that it silences the winds,
Halts the hours,
Quiets all storms.
A human being, now soul streaming
The inner balance in all things.
You were made for these times.