Can you feel it too? In the air? So much stress. So much fear. It's thick and unmoving. Like tar. But there's something else too. You can feel it... if you let yourself. If you take a deep breath, and let your shoulders relax. It's called Hope. Did you just feel that? That strange chill that just danced across your shoulders and arms? The one you seem to get from time to time for no reason. It's always there. Hope. Reaching out like the gentle brushing of a feather across your face waking you up. It will always be there.

Ever feel like the proverbial cup is full? Another drop in it would surely send you over the edge and break you down. Instead... why not grab that same proverbial glass and take a drink from it? Drink it all in, leave the cup empty again, and be renewed. When my soul is in need of a recharge, my mind wanders and I often find myself at a familiar place. A sacred place. I invite you to take a journey with me now. Leave everything behind you. Let your mind's eye see what mine sees. Let your heart and soul feel what mine do. Follow me...

My eyes fall closed, and my "Today" and my "Now" drift away to somewhere else. There's a peaceful rumbling in the distant. It's the sound of the soothing tides against the beach. I know this place. Somehow, I can smell the ocean. Beautiful warm salty air. Feel it. Hear it.

It's the middle of the night, and this beach is empty. The moon is full, bright and center in the sky crowned by another ocean... one of stars. I'm on an old cliff overlooking the shore alone by a campfire. The smoke smells like burning sage. I didn't make this campfire. Far as I know, it's always been there. Always will be there. The Fire of Ages. Forever. Waiting for its children. Warm, and welcoming. No harm can come to anyone by this hearth.

I'm on the ground, leaning up against a massive oak. Its trunk is as wide as a house, and its roots are thick, and powerful and reach deep down into the earth. Its branches stretch to greet the sky, and can bear the weight of all the world's sorrows as though they were feathers. My hand drifts down and touches the dark warm fur of a large wolf that has come to sit by me. Another guardian. Black fur and blue-lavendar eyes. I can feel his breath... his heartbeat. His fur shines like the night, and he licks my hand. Beyond the campfire, I can see the shimmering edge of an old forest... dense and wild like some unbelieveable enchanted forest from a child's nursery rhyme. A white snow owl is my only other companion in this place. She's perched on a branch at the forest's edge beyond the campfire. She watches over me and the wolf. She's waiting for me to rise up and step into the forest... the standing stones wait deep within. Come. Come. Come with me. Let us meet at the standing stones and dance for the moon.