Originally Posted by indigenousmama
amris, i had some bad new this morning and could use a lift. can i ask you for another message?
Of course you can. But it'll cost you two hugs and a banana dance!
I have no knowledge of what happened, though I see from celesterra's post that you posted it somewhere. So, whatever comes is entirely without my interference.
* * * * *
Ah, dear one, the songs of angels are all around you. It is no accident that you are in this place, at this time, seeking this.
Do you see how everything has narrowed down to this moment in your life? Do you see how it has all come to the point of a fulcrum?
When one uses a lever, there is a point of greatest stress on the mechanism. That is the point where it touches the fulcrum.
That is your life. That is today. Now is the time. Can you see it? You already know that the choices you have made brought you here. You look around you, and all you see is devastation, disappointment.
Here is a story for you. It is a divine story. It is your story, if you choose to write it.
Once upon a time (that is the proper way to start a story, you know), there was a rosebush. She grew in an ancient and derelict courtyard. Long since abandoned, the courtyard was silent and still. All that remained of its former glory, was the rosebush.
The seasons changed, and at the proper season each year, the rosebush burst forth in furious, delightful color. At the end of the season, she dropped her leaves, and rested.
But one year, the rosebush said to the weed, "I shall not bloom this year."
Surprised, the little weed, responded, "Of course you will bloom, for you are the rose!"
The rosebush shook her branches and wept dew upon the grass beneath her. "I shall not bloom, for there is no one to see me."
And so it was, the rosebush chose not to bloom that year.
The next year came, as it always does. Forlorn, the rosebush looked for the weed, but the weed didn't grow this year. The rosebush, in her sorrow, chose again not to bloom.
The weeks turned into months, winter came. Soon, it was time for the rosebush to bud again. But the grass never came back. And so, the rosebush didn't bud. She dropped her leaves early, and sat in the silent courtyard, weeping dew upon the barren ground. Her friend the weed was gone. Her friend the grass was gone. How lonely the world was!
She struggled through another winter. Alone, not even the grass to keep her company. Spring came, and she wept dew again. But this year, she looked up into the sky. And there she saw her friend, the sun.
"Oh, dearest sun, you are always with me!" she cried out. She shook her branches, and she stretched up towards the sun. She strained and pushed. She struggled and she stretched. And then, something wonderful happened.
She remembered how to bloom again. And oh, did she bloom! She burst forth with more beautiful, frangrant roses than ever before! She made one branch bloom for her lost friend, the weed. She made one branch bloom for her lost friend, the grass. She made one branch bloom for her friend, the sun.
And fall came, as it always does. She held onto the last two blooms, as long as she could. She looked at them, and she celebrated. At last, though, the snow came, and they dropped away, falling to the ground.
The next spring, the rosebush was surprised to see, her friend the weed was back! And look there, there was friend grass!
"Friend grass, friend weed, you are back!" she cried out.
"Yes," said friend grass. "We have come to see you bloom."