She looks weary. Worn out.
She is young.
That is relative. She is old.
There's so much positive, so much happy.
True... that's how it appears.
Not appearances, reality.
But not internal reality.
She is sad?
Wounded. Struggling to heal.
That makes her weary?
The wound is deep. It touched her soul.
Her soul. That's all that she is; her being.
True... that's how it appears.
How it appears?
What she believes. She has forgotten that I am part of her.
   She has tried to heal herself, alone. Her soul is weary.
You can help?
I am help. But she needs to call for me.
Will she?
I call out to her each day, asking that question.
She doesn't answer?
She doesn't seem to hear.
Can you speak more loudly?
She will heal.  She will hear Me. She will even love again.
She cannot love?
Not right now.
Someone must be very, very sad about that.
She is most sad.  It is herself she must learn to love.
Must she heal first or love first?
She must only be open to My voice and both will come,
         quickly and painlessly.
Then she will smile?
Then she will smile and laugh and dance. Then she will be free.
She's pretty when she smiles.
I know. I made her that way.

Copyright © 1997, KML