We have the right to find something beautiful, however small that might be. Tending to the garden, travels, making art or cooking. I find beauty when I sit down to writing, light a candle and make a cup of coffee in the small French press. Every word I write in my notebook is soaked with love and affection, and in those moments I can feel like I am touching the tip of the divine. I have an access to an invisible force of love, care and tenderness.
This force is like an ancient motherly love, a force which is graceful, fully supportive and accepting. Force which says: You have the voice, I love you, just keep on writing. So I put all my heart and soul in writing this beloved journal, as I call it. I put purpose in every sentence I write, and a little arch in every scene of one hundred moments.
The world is still asleep and I can feel quiet tenderness of the invisible gold, the unconditional love, the one love. For a moment I am becoming one with the force who created the meadows, the valleys and the mountains, the oceans, songbirds, and the man. There is no sadness, no tears here. It’s only quiet, only tender.