Oh, my little autumn morning glory, your heart is devoted, and it searched for me when you were only eight years old. I heard and felt your fervor. I observed you on your knees with your daddy’s big, beaded rosary, kneeling in the front row of an immense cathedral. I saw a massive heart in a skinny little girl desiring me close. The only way to me was what you were taught. You took the Maryknoll missionary holy card and prayed to travel far and be a nun working for me. I felt your intimacy dear one. Mary Beth, your heart is always in transition and has the capacity to bring near the unknown hearts. You still have so many questions about war and the houseless. Your heart struggles with guilt at having so much. Your questions are revealing the vast cavern of your heart. Electricity moves quickly in your heart. It searches for pathways and then relaxes and breathes. This is it, MB--the smell of rotting apples on the ground, the fall wind, and the blue, your favorite blue sky. Your heart cultivates strength, my sweetness, because you still see much to labor. So, my warrior, push forward and I will be beside you each day. I notice how you are making connections; you’ve always been able to bond, sweet heart. Your concave groove fits onto the convex channel of others. You are loved by me, my child, and I will never stray. You are on track with what I have planned for you. I love watching you, love seeing how you think; I love hearing your heart sing my little bug, and looking through the portal of emotions in your heart.
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I had not gotten to this yet in Letters. Grateful to read now and oh, your eight year old heart. She’s a keeper. The picture that hangs on my wall is of me being that age when I contained multitudes of magic. I sense that with you as well. No party line needed for you with God. You always had a direct line. Hmm, the electrical currents… that resonates, I’ll be feeling into it. In gratitude MB. Savor your day. 💜🪶