Blessed are they that mourn….

Blessed are they that mourn. These words arise from somewhere deep inside this castle of ice, the moat frozen over this Christmas Eve morning. This mourning.

It shouldn’t be this way. The frozen princess inside the life of crystalized emotions. The only way to thaw them out is to be them consciously.

The mirror shows a solemn face that will later be forced into a smile.

I shall be comforted in some far off time and in a different space. Meanwhile, I get on with my life.

I do my best to be real in an unreal world. You see, it is the world that has frozen over, not me.

Let this shock you to your core as you realize that the Real You is as warm as toast.

It shines like the fire inside of an opal.

It is a benediction to this unreal world.

Try and find what is real waiting to be born in the manger of your soul.

Let it run your life and not the material world.

The word will be made flesh in you and you shall be comforted.

Vicki Woodyard