Queen Anne’s Lace

I used to disappear into Queen Anne’s Lace.

She held court in the Queendom of the imagination place.

Sometimes when she told me stories from her perspective, the tiny blue white faeries would come.

You know the little teeny tiny whispy float-flying insects who could easily be mistaken for floating lint but were actually alive?

I don’t see them so much anymore. But they are angel faeries. Dakinis. I always knew it.

I still know it and they haven’t gone away. Either I haven’t been keeping my eye out for them or they have gone where we can’t find them.

imagination. It is there. But the most important question is can we see it as clearly as we age?

Maybe, is that the place where the “extinct” beings go?

I haven’t been playing enough hopscotch anymore.

Why? I always love a game of hopscotch.

I pray to grow young again. Stopping for a few at somewhere around seven years old? Old enough to know the velocity of my imagination and yet still engage freely in the wonder–and without inhibition.

The two little boys who met by the river today may never cross paths again and yet they were brothers for the minutes they played together. One or both may take that moment through the rest of their lives.

Will they remember the goodbye? Or will they have the great fortune to recall the hello? Again and again…

Perhaps they become friends a lifetime away and by the time they get there all they notice is a strange familiarity.

Or perhaps their memory will jog over a beer by the fire, of a morning by the river when the swan canoe paddled in as we offered tobacco and shared condolence and bridge building with smoke rising and the Red Tailed Hawk circling above.

Today Queen Anne sat upon her perfectly imperfect lace and reminded me to grow young again. To listen for the messages on the wind and to return and dance in the mystic grounds of her land. Where the flowers have faces and speak so many truths.

Our childlike nature remembers how little time it takes to resolve a disagreement, or recover from a scraped knee.

Their bodies heal faster in that knowing.

Resilience is boundless until we “learn” otherwise.

Remember to greet the messages with acceptance and gratitude when they hurt enough to make me listen

To be free and remember how fast we return to love.

“Oh to be young again…” those words to me are not a wistful rue. But today a spunky affirmation.

Who gave her that name? Did they know the vastness of her concern? Because she holds a key to imagination and we know that imagination is the gateway to the creative road on the spirit walk to Creator’s embrace.