Imagine your “self” as a treasure lost in a shallow sea.  It went down when your ship of dreams crashed on rocks of doubt.  You didn’t have a hull fortified with the strength of persistence.  Your ship was thin and unprepared for the journey.  You lacked provisions and the life jackets of faith and friends.  You couldn’t take the wheel and steer because you lost focus in a fog of the opinions of others.  And so your dreams sank and the treasure of who you really are went with them.  But you survived; determined to find a way.  You screamed a prayer to the endless sky.  And then a hand reached down as you floated on a piece of drift wood.  It brought you on board a strange ship made of clouds, and after you were rested a Voice said, “It’s time.  We must dive below and find your buried treasure.”  You looked to see who was speaking, but the Light was too dazzling to get a clear vision. So you dove into the water, but you did not go alone.  You had a life line and a guide. Into the dark waters that seemed to stretch forever, where it seemed nothing could be found, you dove, casting your nets.  Sure enough, you found the treasure box.  It was nestled in a reef surrounded by the blank-eyed sharks of shame and the many-toothed barracudas of resentment.  You began pulling it towards you, and with the help of your Guide you brought the treasure box to the surface.  Once safely on board, you brushed away the barnacles of self-criticism and the sea weed of lethargy, and you lifted the lid.  Light poured out.  Inside were your dreams, your talents, and the gifts of your spirit.  Lavish and dripping with riches, your “self” shined in the sun.  As you ran your hands through the gifts you have, you heard a Voice, both strange and familiar.  It said: “You must go. You must find a harbor and make port. You must take these treasures and share them.  A village is waiting.  You must give them away or you will lose them again.  And the next time the doubts come, and the fear, keep moving, let your dreams steer you.  You can trust their course.”  And when you looked up from your treasure box to thank the keeper of the Voice, your eyes adjusted to the light reflecting off the waves, and you saw you were surrounded by an entire crew of angels, each one waiting for your orders, for you were the Captain.  The Voice had streamed into your heart the moment you prayed, and when you dove into the darkness and accepted the gifts of who you really are–Your True Voice surfaced–the Captain of your soul–the song of Your Heart’s Desire.

The flock of birds flew from beyond the horizon.  Across the water it dipped and darted—a thousand wings catching the sun with every beat.  From where he stood on the shore it looked as if a rainbow had scattered into a million pieces filling the sky with fluttering prisms of color. When it descended around him in a storm of wings, each bird began chattering and twittering all at the same time.  It was an oddly pleasant sound at first, yet it soon overwhelmed him.  He spun around.  So many birds—some huge, like feathery dragons, others small enough to alight on your finger.  He couldn’t move.  There were birds everywhere.  He couldn’t even swim for the water was filled with birds bobbing up and down in the waves. He could hardly think for their constant chatter rained around him in one gray cloud of confusion.  And then he knew what he had to do.  He lifted his arms like branches and stood—still as a tree in the morning light.  And they came, bird after bird landing on his outstretched arms.  After they had settled upon him he slowly drew his arms into a circle in front of himself.  It was a gesture of the greatest gentleness, and the birds adjusted accordingly as he brought his arms to an eye level ring.  He looked at each bird in turn and then sent up his own winged prayer.  And then he blew a soft breath at each bird, and one by one they startled and flew away, until at last, one bird—one white dove–remained.  They stared into each other’s eyes with such intensity that neither moved and neither noticed the flock around them had scattered to other shores.  He sat down and let the bird settle comfortably in the open cup of his hands.  They talked all day and night exchanging stories and laughter.  And when the sun rose again over the ocean, he whispered one last thing to the dove and stood, lifting his hands to the sky.  The dove looked at him and cooed its thanks, and then flew towards the horizon carrying his clear and focused vision.  He turned and walked back to the village carrying the dove’s songs and secrets, and together they changed the world.

The stream flowed through the autumn woods, steadily, but slowly.  Trees scattered leaves, like so many pieces of gold into the water.  The stream looked like it was filled with golden ships whirling and sailing to the ocean.  The stream believed it decided its own course, yet inside it knew the riverbanks and the rocks, the tree roots and the landscape all had a lot to do with where it went.  It also knew however, its destination—the ocean—home—that never changed.  And while it wavered occasionally in a pool of doubt (created by the debris left by a storm of doubts) it eventually unloosened and flowed again—but only with the help of the pull of the sea.  Even in the winter when, on the surface it was frozen with fear, just below, it flowed on, refusing to give in.  And with the warmth of the sun it gradually thawed and flowed unfettered—a visible song of hope.  One day it merged with another stream which was also heading towards the ocean.  The other stream broadened the course of the first and together they flowed as one.  After a few miles they hit hard times (which come eventually to every stream) and doubts and fears, failures and resentments clogged their path.  So they went underground, visible to no one but the roots of the trees and each other, and they flowed in the darkness, until they were ready, and when they were, they sprang up together, miles ahead, stronger than ever.  “We all have to make our own decisions,” said the first river, emerging from the ground.  “Yes,” said the second, joining hands with the first, “but we must study the land, listen to the riverbanks, and ask other streams for guidance.  We must decide for ourselves, but we needn’t ever decide alone.”  “A paradox,” laughed the first.  “Indeed,” laughed the second.  And the two rivers, laughing and murmuring their prayers to the ocean, talked and powered the waterwheels of thought as they traveled through the countryside, heading for home.

So there is this tree.  It spreads roots that rise and fall in the surrounding soil like little sculptures of water dragons flowing through the sea.  The wind comes, and the tree sways and leans a little, sometimes a lot.  Birds come, preen their feathers safely in its branches, and then fly away, refreshed for having visited.  Squirrels come and zipper through its boughs like visible laughter.  Sometimes the tree doesn’t expect the intensity of the wind that comes and it whirls in its place like a rooted top.  Sometimes it sways in the evening breeze, slow dancing in the arms of the sky, all night beneath the light of the moon.  Sometimes it scatters treasures into the wind, filling the river with golden coins.  Sometimes it sleeps, barren and dreaming, gathering snow on its shoulders.  Sometimes it blooms fresh buds full of promise and hope, fragrant–each bud a flower, each flower a fruit.  It stands, guarding the newborn’s window.  It reaches down to lift the children on its shoulders where they can daydream and watch the sky through the lattice of its branches.  Its strength stems from its roots, and its roots are named nobility, wonder, grace, determination, blessing, and generosity.  No matter the wind, no matter the season, it stands, sheltering any who wander near, completely secure in being held by the earth, the sky, and the sweeping arms of the galaxy.

The undesirable voice entered the attic.  I stood on a box and shouted, “Get out of here!” The voice only shuddered and grew into two.  I bolstered myself and shouted again, doing my best to resist them: “Get out of here!”  I shouted.  And those two voices, those undesirable, negative voices—grew—they grew into three.  The more I shouted the more they multiplied, and soon the attic was filled with a chorus of undesirable voices all talking at once saying horribly negative, defeated, angry, and fearful things.  And the more I yelled at them to leave, the more they grew.  It was then, discouraged, beaten, and without hope, that I saw a dusty book sitting on shelf.  I picked it up, blew off the dust, sneezed, and then opened it up at random.  When I read the words I was amazed.  Rivers of light and hope coursed through me.  I looked back at the book.  Another line flashed like lightening into me.  I laughed, closed the book, turned to the undesirable voices and said, “What is it you want?”  They were stunned.  No one had ever asked them that before.  They stopped talking.  One of them finally spoke and said, “To help you.  We want you comfortable, in that old place.”  Another said, “To simply be acknowledged, after all, I am only trying to keep you in the place I think is best for you.”  And one by one they spoke, and one by one I listened, and then, one by one, I blessed them, thanked them, and released them.  And as I blessed them, new voices–positive, loving, encouraging, self-affirming voices entered the space.  And the attic glowed, it thrummed with beauty.  After a while, the entire attic was filled with joy.  And whenever one of the undesirable voices entered, I asked it what it wanted, thanked it for trying to help (in its own misguided way), blessed it, and then let it go, replacing it with a new voice—one of love.  I did this by listening and by talking with others about what the voices were saying.  What did I read in the book?  “Resist not evil” and “Love your enemies.”  What I resist persists.  What I hate grows. What I love is transformed into Light.