White oleander. Some things come and others go and it isn’t our job to decide. I think I’m okay with that now. Precisely because it feels like coming home, sitting in a patch of sun, enjoying a gentle breeze brushing. I think i’m okay because cherries drip from trees and persimmons lie smooshed on asphalt and monsterras furl their leaves when they feel like it and none of it I can control. None of it is me. I’m like white oleander, full and gleaming. I, too, will come and go. I, too, will tell lies. Respectfully and because it seems like the right thing to do. Like white oleander, I will blossom and I will die and everything in between will come like a rolling tide. There will be no misery without a crackling open afterward. There will be no hiatuses without a brilliant upstart. It all comes and goes as it should! We are not who ever decides. We are here for the ride ever and presently as we can be. we take what it gives us and we choose to be free. Because this is freedom: the ability to resist attachment to the bigs and the littles, the pains and the pittles. This is freedom: the joy of a summer breeze which may just rustle your leaves. Does it spark a sultry shiver or a rattling spine? Do you muster a smirk or childish grin? Or is your heart cold and heavy, afraid of the wind? The freedom lies not in deciding how and when the breeze will come, but in knowing that it doesn’t matter one iota as long as you are… one. With the breeze and the trees and the furled up leaves. With the shimmering sunlight and the raucous tides, with the hearts open everywhere far and wide. When you’re one with all beings, you see the truth. It’s all gifts and galores and big wide open shores. it’s all love and it’s all lights and it’s all shimmering so so bright. Life is magic and life is grace. Life is a dance and a chance. It’s a chance to find freedom in every crescent moon. It’s a chance to see starlight in every single wound. It’s an opportunity to surrender every day at noon.

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