you & me

The Surrender House: Come And Rest, Weary Traveler.

Come. You are welcome here. Come inside and take your repose.

My door is open, friend. Come. Rest. For I know the way your bones creak and moan with weariness.

For all who have come to me have journeyed countless roads — bested, worn and weary. Feet blistered and bleeding, knees bruised and swollen, clothes tattered and threadbare. Cold and tired, seeking solace on a comfortless road far too long traveled.

I am found by those exhausted souls who seek with genuine hearts. Their authentic longing guiding them to my door.

It is quiet here. You will find no means of entertainment; no loud or expensive distractions within my walls. Peace and stillness resound inside. Come. Sit. Rest.

Winter is coming. Cold dark days approach. Be done with your pointless travels and restless quests.

Lay your longing at my door. Leave your arguments, struggle and conflict to the weary road. They are nothing, watch as they dissolve into the quiet ease found here.

The furnishings of my interior are as simple as my four white walls. Be seated on my sofa and wrap yourself in the comfort of my handwoven blanket. Watch as the low light from the grey day outside the window illuminates my simple sitting room.

Observe from my clear glass pane as the misty rain begins to fall as you snuggle in, warm and dry. Watch as birds glide lazily by on the fragrant autumn breeze. The trees, moved by the same breeze, dance with elation at your homecoming.

All that you need you will find within my walls. A simple warm meal awaits you at my table. Light the evening candles and be sustained. With belly full you may slumber in my tranquil bedchamber. Doze for as long as you like, wrapped in soft comfort. Wake only when fully rested.

When you wake, you shall have warm cinnamon tea and wholesome nourishment to break your fast.

We may abide together according to the gentle ebb and flow of the passing days. I make no demands of you. We are old friends, you and I. In a childhood long since forgotten, you once blossomed and flourished here. Your innocent laughter joyously echoed from my walls. Your carefree bare footsteps brought delight to my grounds.

As you aged, you began to wonder about unseen treasures hidden in the vast world. I watched you take your leave, driven by the mad idea you could find bliss somewhere out there. I knew the road you chose was harsh, desolate and barren. I kept my hearth warm, eager for your return.

Come. Stay. Rest. Relax here for the quiet and cold season; let me house you in recuperation and restorative respite. For it is time to heal. Time to let go of your sorrows and remember your pure faultless heart. Your true self.

Yes, I know you, weary traveler. For I was made just for you. My firm foundation and sturdy structure made of boundless love — for you.

Stay with me; let me hold you until grace returns the childlike twinkle to your eyes. The springtime will dawn once again, bringing life renewed. We will watch as the sun’s rays bathe the land in golden mercy and compassion.

Let us celebrate as the song of new life rings throughout the land. With mended heart, and the joyous remembrance of sorrowful travels now and forever ended, we will greet the sun.


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Abby Pingree
Abby Pingree spent the first seven years of her life in a hippie commune. She is currently an author, hospice nurse, mother, and student of life. She has made friends with her own experiences with drug addiction, bulimia, dishonest and dodgy behavior by simply telling the truth. She explores these experiences in a book titled: Completion, by C. Abigail Pingree. She now seeks an authentic life. She writes for Elephant Journal and blogs for Huffington Post. She can be found on Facebook and Twitter.
Abby Pingree
Abby Pingree

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