It is said, by some, that when we think of the beloved who have departed from their earthly forms, their energy rushes through dimensions to embrace us. I am not the only one who has noticed the soft cocoon of her light.
“All is light.”
I keep thinking of her words before and after, as I imagine what she would say to me each time the labored hand of grief seizes reality.
Sometimes we laugh at my absurdity.
While chopping vegetables for dinner, I tell her I am “not happy.”
“I know,” I imagine her saying, but she is also smiling. We both know better.
“Well,” I tell her, “It’s simply not very fair. We had lots more adventures to go on.”
“Who says they’ve stopped?”
We laugh before I cry, again.
And there she is sitting beside my left shoulder, wrapped in her feathers. She is not alone.
On the other side is Bratha, but she is less defined. A haze of energy to show me that Sue has returned to her, and the others. I think of the crow, kin to raven, who flew across my path after I learned of Sue’s passing.
“I know,” I tell them. “I know, and I am glad. Don’t get me wrong, but I am also a little envious. You left the rest of us behind.”
We’ve made some sort of deal, I think. I tell her I don’t want to be needy. That I don’t expect to take her away from other “places” and “people,” which simply means I am trying my best not be needy. On the other hand, I promise to be open. To whatever is offered.
Reluctantly I accept that it may not be what I want, but what I need.
She seems to have established the realm. For the second morning I wake to what I know are her words, even though the voice has already changed.
I begin to wonder when the form will too as I think of the photos that are disappearing from my computer. She wouldn’t want us to hold onto the temporary.
“All is bright [light].”
Still infused with clever mischief, asking for the mind to be stretched.
“Don’t expect to see me as me. Be open to seeing me in everything.”
When I went to the grocery store after dinner, the bill came to $77.77.
Magic comes in many forms.
“Open your eyes.
I am still here.
I am everywhere.”
I’m sorry for your loss. Your tribute to Sue is tender, heartfelt and beautiful. Yes, she is with you and will always remain.
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Thank you, Victoria. ❤️
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❤
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I’m glad you’ve met her and spent time with her on the retreats. Thank you for the tribute.
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As am I. I’ll always cherish those memories.
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They’re pervious memories!
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❤️
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This is such a lovely tribute. I only knew her through her blogs, but what a source of inspiration she was. I miss her presence here.
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Thank you. I agree, she was an inspiration to so many ❤️
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Reblogged this on Books & Bonsai.
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I am deeply sorry for your loss…I am glad a previous time meeting her…
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Thank you ❤️
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A beautiful tribute.
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Thank you, Daniel
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A beautiful tribute to our beautiful Sue… 💞
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Thank you, Bette. Writing helps the processing ❤️
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Yes✨
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❤️
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She is indeed, everywhere. 🙂
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Yes, what a gift she continues to be ❤️
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You write with such love, Alethea. Thank you. A beautiful tribute to Sue. ❤
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Thank you, Jane. She meant a great deal to me. ❤️
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{{ ❤ }}
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Gorgeous. This made me feel so emotional x
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Thank you, it was a big loss. ❤️
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I can tell xx always here for you x
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Absolute beauty
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Thank you 🙂
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☺️☺️
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