The Muse spots her sleeping outside of the gates of flow and abundance. She’s cried herself to sleep, believing that she hasn’t been granted access to this entrance. She is dangerously close to the edge, wrapped in little more than a thinly worn sheet of self-worth and memories of better days. She has been having a hard time, this little spark, and is withering quickly. She holds a tiny light of hope close to her as she sleeps, but it is so very dim that the Muse wonders if she can still see it. It certainly doesn’t look bright enough to light her way into the hall. With a helping hand, the Muse paints bright roses on the entrance to make it more obvious and much easier to find, and she nudges the small creature to safety. The Muse knows that the entrance is closer than her sleeping companion can imagine right now, and hopefully, when she wakes, she will make the choice to enter the doorway of acceptance and well-being, and begin to heal the rift that has grown so wide… between the wealth and health that she desires… and the life that she has wrapped herself up in.
“You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming.” – Pablo Neruda