Spring meets autumn on a soft mossy bed. They are following the cycle of the seasons, of Life itself. They need no words to show or to explain the way to go, nor the way to be. Their immobile stillness and surrender is a silent pointer.
Am I surrendered to "what is" in this moment? Am I trying to go against the flow of what Life is offering me to move forward?
Spring meets autumn on a soft mossy bed. They are following the cycle of the seasons, of Life itself. They need no words to show or to explain the way to go, nor the way to be. Their immobile stillness and surrender is a silent pointer.
ReplyDeleteAm I surrendered to "what is" in this moment? Am I trying to go against the flow of what Life is offering me to move forward?