Speak to me of serenity, of treasures yet to be found, of peace that flows like a river. Tell me of tranquil places that no hand has marred, no storm has scarred. Give me visions of standing in sunlight or the feeling of spring mist against my cheek as I live and move and breathe. Show me paths that wind through wild lilies and beds of buttercups. Sing me songs like the mingled voices of wrens and meadowlarks, the lowing of gentle cows, the soft mother-call of a mare to her colt. Lead me past a glass-smooth pond where frogs croak of coming-out parties, their graduation from frisky tadpoles to squat green frogs. Find me a place in the sunlight to sit and think and listen to the sweet inner voice that says so quietly, "Peace, be still."
~ from CHEROKEE FEAST OF DAYS by Joyce Sequichie Hifler
For some minutes my mind knows only a silent stillness within, a meditation without effort, a celebration of occasion. Slowly my vision focuses on a bird of red-streaked, chocolate-covered feathers and bright orange beak... I have been watching her a long while now without registering, labeling or defining her particular condensation of being, taking her as much for granted as she appears to take me. So beautiful. So natural. A bird in a tree.
It came as no great revelation or dramatic insight. Just a simple reminder that I chose my responsibilities and that behind each of them is love. They are not burdens or chores; they are expressions of love. When I am not caught up in anxiety, I enjoy the activities they require. And of all my chosen tasks and commitments, those that bring the greatest challenges, frustrations, joy and satisfaction are those that are born of my deepest love, my love for those who depend on my labor.
