My voice has quieted.  The urge to be heard is now soft.  Perhaps I don’t have anything to say, and part of me feels dull and uninspired.  I still hear within a rigid rebellious selfish pre-teen girl insisting that she just wants to stay in her room and read the whole Bobbsey Twins series and eat cookies.

Some people say that I’m still healing.  Perhaps others think that I’m just a boor.  Doesn’t matter–I’m stuck with me through thick and thin.  Thicker as the years past.  Getting older is sure not for sissies.

But I do search with all my senses between the lines of computers, work, bills, duties, the puzzlement of relationships, cars needing repair–through all these daily distractions–I search for the peace that passes all understanding.

I see it in the gentle wave of a browning flower, curled up and past tempting bees.  I feel it in the dawn breeze.  I hear it even in the growl of jets overhead and cherish those tender moments when my whole body, mind and soul quiver in the conscious awareness of precious Spirit. 

It is good to feel my Voice come through for me still.