What is that place? Is it already here? Is it always here and we’re too busy being busy to notice it. Why does it take some tragedy, like the death of a loved one to make us realize that we didn’t give enough. That we didn’t take enough. That we were too busy to listen and now the missed opportunities haunt us like a mother with open arms that will never be filled.
When we play, when we forget the worries and pressures of ourselves we touch something precious. That something is an intimation of the space that is filled with love. The love that is asking only to be recognized in order to become present.
We intuit with a poignant regret that we’re missing something. The most important thing. The one thing that will bring healing and peace. We’re missing the connection to that place just beyond who I am.
Remember, you have touched that place. You know where it is. The music coming from your Indian flute calls you over to that side where the sun shines on a meadow filled with Spring wildflowers. In that meadow is the answer and the love that we know we have somehow lost sight of. When the music ends and you put down your Native American flute don’t forget that meadow. Keep it in your heart throughout the day. Don’t forget to tell people that you love them. It feels strange at first, I know. But it gets easier. You can give the very best of yourself. The sunshine of that perfect place gives you strength. You are a spring of living water and that water is love.