Hope

I never used to think about hope much, but now I know: hope is jasmine winding its way through your insides, climbing into your most intimate parts, filling the empty spaces with the fragrance of spring.

When you are sick for years and years, your hope of health shrivels and droops until it is nothing more than a few black, spindly stems. When this happens, it is easiest to let hope die, but you mustn't.

You must coax your hope back to life with the water and air of imagination. You must imagine you are climbing Half Dome, or learning to surf, or hosting a tea party, or running in the rain, and you must imagine you are doing it all with ease. Do this daily, and with time you will notice your hope has sprouted the tiniest waxy, green leaves. One day it will bear fragrant blossoms again.

For months I've been working to cultivate hope by imagining myself exploring Portland with my siblings, a cup of tea in hand and the neurological firestorm at bay. And you guys, today I did it, just exactly the way I imagined.

It was wondrous.

© by scj