Today, I sat outside after a very long winter and touched grass. The breeze was cold but the scent of soil and the swish of sycamore trees allowed me the sanctuary of warmth in my heart: it felt as though my entire being was engulfed by my small, beating heart. It felt as though my heart was no longer small, it was an entire house, a home with a hearth, a stove with warm soup, and the wafting scent of cinnamon and scones. As an ant crawled up my big toe, struggling under the weight of its own body, I remained still, basking in the oneness, the harmony, and the communal stillness between nature and myself.
At that moment, I wanted to tell God that I was grateful for the life bestowed upon me – from the bottom of my heart. That I was grateful for many people, for many decisions in life, for many situations, for many opportunities, and for many things – from the depths of my heart. That I was deeply grateful for this moment, this open moment of open epiphany, this moment that was as refreshingly awakening as a Polo peppermint – with all my heart.
But most of all, I wanted to take my heart and hold it in my hands, shower upon it petals of jasmine and rose, and ask God to forever take care of this ever grateful, ever warm, and ever present heart because it houses you, the light of my life, the joy of my eyes.