David Whyte, the writer, pops into my Inbox from time to time. Normally, his messages set the stage for great introspection. Here’s the latest:

Rest is the conversation between what we love to do and how we love to be. Rest is the essence of giving and receiving; an act of remembering, imaginatively and intellectually, but also psychologically and physically. To rest is to give up on the already exhausted will as the prime motivator of endeavour, with its endless outward need to reward itself through established goals.

As the wind blows, I know why I’m a writer. Because life is in balance; like a seesaw, it tips. I see through a lens that looks for what’s interspersed as opposites—each sting has a petal. I can hear what you see when I am grateful to be alive.

I am happy for the miracles that occur in healing sometimes. Surreal, yet not. For instance, it is known in some cancer patients with x months left to live—as deemed by their doctors—that to embrace their illness by leading a life full of bliss for the last months of life is to allow cancers go into remission.