The sky never yells, "get out".
When the rain comes, the sky rests in peace. Spacious. Open. Welcoming.
When the thunder comes, the sky turns towards, not away and says, "okay".
When even the lightning comes, with all its rage and drama and noise, the sky still remains, soft and supple and light.
When the hail comes, hard and ferocious and icy cold, still the sky goes on, a gentle welcoming to whatever wishes to be.
When the snow falls, the sky sits in wonder and love for this new thing that has appeared within its space. Fascinated at its softness. Curious about its rapidly changing form.
When the wind howls and blows and stirs up its blustery chaos, there is not even the slightest disapproval from the sky. She sits in love. Always. Always.
And when the sun shines, radiant and glorious, the sky shows no preference. Always just loving the experience of what is.
My dear, my love, my one, you are the sky. And as the sky, you have the capacity to welcome the all of everything into your space. The joy, the sorrow, the anger, the happiness, the peace, the resentment, the jealousy, the stillness, the certainty, the doubt. The all of everything.
And still you go untouched. Still you are the sky. Spacious and open and on and on into forever.
Allow yourself to be what you are. A space into which all things flow in...and out. All in the right time, always.
You are not loved. You are love. The space, the space, the space of love. Into forever you go.
Love and courage,