My dear beautiful one!
What a winter journey this was, what a gestation of a Spring that is coming and coming, trying to complete her flower lace dress as the clouds are playing hide and seek with the Sunlight!
Coming back from the Spring Celebration Ritual Retreat, where we worked on truthful presence, empowered ourselves with the courage to see who we truly are and who we truly want to be, with playfulness and in joy, I realized that playing hide and seek with our selves, not being as honest as we can be, not daring to tell the truth about our feelings, emotions, and dreams are just postponing our return "home".
It became clear to me that my life priority is to create ways in which we can grow and become stronger together as a tribe. I reaffirmed that our path towards happiness is revealed to us when we are sitting together in a circle, breathing together, dancing and singing together, sharing all our darkness and all our light, connecting with the cosmic forces of Nature.
We can be free to love our selves unconditionally, only when we drop down our masks, show our vulnerability, accept our shadows and trust this amazing journey home that is life! What a beautiful Dream we can create from the gift of life that has been given to us!
Keep evolving, keep seeing the dream you want to see of yourself and of all the web of life around you, keep embracing and softening your shadows and let the love and light come in more and more every day. Remember you are a beloved member of the soul family. Remember you are not alone. Remember you are love and only love.
With Love and Light
༄ Apostolia ༄
photo by Sea Eymere @sealua
Sharing with you one of my favorite poems of the Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish
We journey towards a home not of our flesh.
It's chestnut trees are not of our bones.
Its rocks are not like goats in the mountain hymn.
The pebbles' eyes are not lilies.
We journey towards a home that does not halo our heads with a special Sun.
Mythical women applaud us.
A sea for us, a sea against us.
When water and wheat are not at hand,
eat our love and drink our tears...
There are mourning scarves for poets.
A row of marble statues will lift our voice.
And an urn to keep the dust of time away from our souls.
Roses for us and against us.
You have your glory, we have ours.
Of our home, we see only the unseen: our mystery.
Glory is ours: a throne carried on feet torn by roads that led to every home but our own!
The soul must recognize itself in its very soul, or die here.
༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄༄