Humility

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The field mouse scurries and forages in its small acreage of

consciousness. Its little heart rejoices in the insolence of its

modesty. Yet a mans heart is turned upon the lathe of cognizance

itself. Humility is not his nest, for he lives in the

eye of the eagle. He must spread his wings to live in the

spaciousness of this life. His heart in flight, consumes the

mouse in the fire of spirit.

In deepest gratitude, be grateful to be the music of the wind

of change. If you have a thought more humble than this, or

more noble than this, it is a mistaken identity. It is the

nature of arrogance to tumble over its conceit. Yet it is

always returned to tremble upon the highest branch of

safety. However a false humility, will eat your heart from

the inside out, and you will be dead before you have learned

to fly.

True humility accepts no chains, for it gives its heart to the

sacred storm that uncovers it. Brook no less a god than

the freedom of the wind. Arise each day in the heart, and

crown yourself with eagle feathers. You do not have to

preen a plumage that is the gift of perfection, just be

uplifted and fly with ease. Your life is the wing of prayer.

There is a time to embrace the low places. To lay yourself

down upon the earth, to again be the root of all things. To

love the little creatures of your soul, and to delve within the

nature of all unassuming appearance. Yet do not assume

yourself to be any creature. Your aerie is the highest

presence. The wind of change is your transcendence.

The flight of freedom is the music of the heart, and it must

peal and soar. Its field is the eye of the sky you would play

within.

Love plays you like music.

You cannot say where it is,

you cannot say, where it is not.

Every one has a soul space to grow in,

where a child learns to dance,

until the music and musician are one.

love

eric.

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All works and compositions found on the page submitted by

ErcAshfrd (AT) aol (DOT) com Are the Copyright of E. J. Ashford.

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