Souls are buoyant. Awash in wonder, anchored by God – they float.
In the morning, there are dragon flies and stillness and the echo of the ocean’s waves. God whispers in those echoes. It’s a language that surpasses human understanding, but one the heart intuitively understands – ancient rhythms of ebb and flow.
In the floating, there is prayer, and day-dreaming, wishing and odd hopeful strands of memory, doubt, hope and promise. Songs are hummed, creating themselves in whispy fragments. When one abandons themselves to floating, the spirit moves over the water. Everyone floats differently, but souls are all washed in the same way – each created perfectly by God to float forth as a co-creator – shaping the world and affecting the day.
On a yellow raft adrift in the sun, it’s easy to wax poetic about souls. But where better for a soul to thrive, revived and buoyant? Into each of our lives may a little floating come.