I cannot hear thy voice, but I hear upon the secret places of my heart, the sound of thy steps I visited my Grandmother yesterday, and she showed me this.  It is a picture of my Great Grandfather.  He was killed with his twin brother sweeping mines in the second world war.  Their bodies were never found.  The writing is my Great Grandmother’s. Contemplating this brought a humbling appreciation of the immense power that flows through our ancestral lines, weaving us together, toward each other, into one another’s hearts through the deepest joys and loss…each life discovering afresh the universal forces that breathe through us in each moment. A million stories, untold but ever present, all to bring us to where we are, a continuous culmination of all that has ever been.  I rest in wonder, in appreciation, in gratitude. ☼

I cannot hear thy voice, but I hear upon the secret places of my heart, the sound of thy steps

I visited my Grandmother yesterday, and she showed me this.  It is a picture of my Great Grandfather.  He was killed with his twin brother sweeping mines in the second world war.  Their bodies were never found.  The writing is my Great Grandmother’s.

Contemplating this brought a humbling appreciation of the immense power that flows through our ancestral lines, weaving us together, toward each other, into one another’s hearts through the deepest joys and loss…each life discovering afresh the universal forces that breathe through us in each moment.

A million stories, untold but ever present, all to bring us to where we are, a continuous culmination of all that has ever been.  I rest in wonder, in appreciation, in gratitude.

☼