Come to my garden

Come to my garden.
The one where the roses open in the silence of the night.
The one where my secret sorrows gently wash away the dust from the path,
so that your feet may step onto it.
The garden where tears also water the roses
– the ones that open in the silence of the night.
Come.
You will feel your sorrows leave you,
just like the dust on the path.
Come.
I await.
Right here,
near the roses that open in the silence of the night.

Kenza.

Inspiration: Spring. 

 

Spring morning

Several flocks of ducks flew over the house this morning, going north to their summer dwellings.

I thought of counting them. There must have been more than 200 birds in each flock.

And then I came to my senses.

Why this need to count? To appropriate something by putting it into a category or a number? Why compare or count?

Let the birds fly north! Enjoy them as they are!

And most importantly, take in the beauty of their ways in silence just as they leave no traces in the sky.

Kenza.

Inspirations: Spring, morning sky and birds. 

Dust

Think and analyze with parsimony.
“Why?” has no answer.
Remain silent.
Grace is everywhere.
In the slow rise of the moon, no matter where you are.
In a blade of grass, in the tenderness of your gestures, in your daily bread.
No need to worry — from dust you rose, dust you shall be.
Grace is not fussy.

Kenza.

Accompanying music: “Song of the universal” by Ola Gjeilo, listen here

Inspiration: “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” – Ash Wednesday, reminding us to be humble and joyful, always joyful.