My chest lifts and falls as I gift my body with the simplest form of the elements. The dream brings on more chaos and turmoil, the story line alike the 7 christopher booker concludes must end in a courageous battle.
What is she fighting for? Why must she carry on her pain, her anguish, when surely she will fail?
Underdogs, heartstrings torn like the harakeke steps teach us to align the flax, to strip it, slim down the larger ones and pair the smaller, for unity is what makes the putiputi complete.
Unity can not be celebrated if division has not been felt, alike the sand's softness cannot be celebrated without the understanding of the concrete and how it jars the joints.
She sits, frail in her rocking chair, her hands comforting the knees that once knew nothing of the aching they feel.
Or did it simply move down from her heart and into her body?
Dreams, we feel them, we breathe them, we live them. When the nightmares come to be, we talk to them. ‘I told you so’ and the self fulfilling prophecy lives on.
Fear, shame, and uncertainty are for survival, they do not hold home in your dreams.
A street ally on a dark evening, surroundings that quicken your heart, morals compromised and values tossed to the wind.
That is their home.
Are you alive? Or are you surviving?
Hope, aspiration, joy, inclusion. These are in your alignment, let the vibrations know you are breathing, that you hold peace. For the power is in your mind.
Do not let your dreams be the only place you hold courage.
NASA is not the only rocket to pull you away from the place you call home.
Pray not just for plunder, for success and an easy life, pray for courage to be the hero of the story, the legacy you will leave.
Pray your unborn children will know you for your heart, and let your actions align to that goodness.
For good intentions will never win over actions.
