She whispered into the tops of their heads, brushing the hair out of their faces with her fingertips.
"Tomo mi mano," she sang, as they walked out into the sacred waters together.
I didn't look it up to translate. I didn't have to. The act of being held, of holding, is universal.
Mysteries are not to be solved: The eye goes blindwhen it only wants to see why. -Rumi
Sometimes it's not about finding beauty in paradise.
Sometimes, you find yourself in the middle of murky, uncharted waters, and it's here, where the truest beauty (often in the form of brilliant courage) arrives.
Jessie taught me that tonight. And with mud-stained-feet, I am so grateful.
Today was a story about long winding roads, and flip flops with mis-matched socks.
Icicles melting into waters the color of luck and eyes-closed pebble wishes hinged on hope.
Today was a story about faith, and what happens when, even in the face of fear, we choose instead to listen only to our hearts.
