Each page feels like soft cotton picked and flattened against a rock. Every word is bursting out to tell a story of something that will teach me more about myself, either as a mirror, an idea or a tool. The ink is spilling emotions or stagnant programs that serve someone, maybe not me. But I still want to know if the story or information will impact my life to help me understand myself or someone else better. My desire to know is what drives my existence.
Every single soul has a story that will help someone else navigate through weeds of life and find the wild flowers - a bouquet of hope. Even if we don't understand what someone is saying with their language, we feel it in our language. Start taking notes, keep a journal by your bed to pen it or type out all your ideas or revelations. Even if today, it does not make sense to write your story, there will be a day that whom you choose to share it with, it will matter.
The first memory of my excitement for books is Mom taking us kids to the public library at six years old in our small downtown. Mom had to hold me back from running to the huge front doors with long brass handles. She kept a tight hand grip on my younger four year old brother because she knew he would run without consent or care. Because I was the eldest and trusted to be careful, I was allowed to skip super fast, knowing I had to keep in Moms view. I remember my curls bouncing, my face feeling like a Cheshire cat and my excitement was bubbling like soda pop. I got the privilege to pick out one book to take home to flip through the pictures and with joyful anticipation, for Mom to read to me at bedtime.
Today and yesterday, we have been purposefully and strategically confused as to what has deep meaning to us. There are very expensive-power hungry attempts to plant ideas in our head. Think deep and brave, those are manufactured by someone else, it's not our own truth. We all know that when our physical body leaves Mother Earth, unless we tell our story, our truth, while we are here, it will become ashes in the wind. Go to the library or a bookstore and run your fingers along the spine, then pick one, close your eyes and breath in the smell of just one book into your lungs. That book is sharing a sensory experience that will mean something different to every human being.
Write your story. Share knowing that there is no human judge of your experiences. You must realize by now that we are taught to compare and judge each other - it's truly not our human nature. Instead, we are each a reflection, a mirror, to learn to be better while we are here. Otherwise, we drown in someone else belief systems like quick sand, buying into tactics to make us weak. Tell your story so that you can help someone else believe in themselves. Share your story to just one person so that you can be the reflection to help them heal or get stronger. We no longer need to hide our own truth.
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