I like the quiet in the middle of the night. It’s still, out there, and that creates stillness in here, where I can hear and feel myself.
The sweet trill of a bird’s song pierces the silence. The quiet becomes denser, morphs into a soft blanket that shields me from other people’s stalking evil.
I commune with the consciousness of words, that dimension where I watch images flash their stories and feel the energy of what they show me.
My soul chooses. I just watch for signs and listen for signals and feel where the tug is strongest.
Something – I don’t know what – shifts inside me. I don’t try to figure it out, even though the brain serves best by observing and reporting. The change will show itself in what I do and how I feel.
I’ve learned to trust. My heart-mind knows knows more than I do. It always has an ear tuned to Higher Self.
