There is a river of light that runs inside you,
And crews of angels who whisper into each cell.
They never stop,
But follow the heart paths,
The blue blood lines that pump life through your body,
Reminding you of who you are if you only stop long enough to listen.
There is a song of goodness that lines your skin.
It tastes like the first snow,
Or the mossy patches that grow at the creek's edge.
It is the you of you that recognizes the eye of I,
Where the things of this world fall away,
And we sit down as if on the first day in that sacred garden and pray.
There is a well of aliveness that sits in your soul,
Waiting for you to dip your bucket and drink the waters.
Every time you grieve full body,
Where tears run like rain down the slopes,
You fill the well.
Every time you stop and sit beneath the tree to breathe in the canopy of green,
You fill the well.
Every time you listen to a poem or fan the creative spark into fire,
You fill the well.
Every time you notice the ring of thorns designed to keep them out and instead say yes to love,
You fill the well.
There is a grove of beauty growing inside you,
A circle of old growth redwoods and you,
The tree child that kneels at their feet and receives.
You play on the soft banks,
You drink from the brook,
You lie down in the wildflowers to watch the clouds cross the sky.
You know who you are.
These are not secrets.
This is what you knew before the messages of too much or not enough seeped past your skin and tainted the knowing.
Before the systems of definites and absolutes crowded your way.
But here is the secret.
The rivers and pathways still live inside you,
Longing for you to peek inside and join them in their joyful ways.
Take that river to the meadow beyond the rights and wrongs,
Beyond the yeses and nos,
Before the quest for gold stars even began.
From that meadow you will seek the path that leads out of their woods and into your own forest where your wholeness dwells,
Your timeless well,
One dip and you know the way.
