For July

a channeled message

Dear one,

This is for you.

The one who feels like time is slipping—a viscous substance with no container below to catch the drippings. That summer will slip through too, and land in some dimension where nostalgia lives, and bear its head, taunting us, in the depths of winter.

This is for you, who deeply desires more slow days, and juicy stories orated from the coziness of a blanket fort, and stone fruit at peak ripeness eaten with sunkissed cheeks and freckles made by the sun. For those who yearn to see time made by women, run by the sanity that she carries in her womb, and that this lunar time might finally birth into the world to combat the grating exhaustion of our 24-hour clock—at least for the summer.

For those of us who wish to be more daring, challenging the status quo of when and where and to whom, who choose to play hooky and know that it won’t ruin their whole life’s plan.

Because the earth is here, aching for us to marvel at her curves.

To lap in her waves and float, taking in the enormity of clouds.

That sweets are allowed, and we can hold abundance and soft bellies in our hands and play just like kids do. That life is about imagination and summer is for reading novels and finding treasure and sitting on benches by the Hudson River at two in the afternoon.

Touch the sun-warmed grass, lie in a hammock. Wear the perfume and put on a girly dress. Make time up, put your watch in a drawer. Because time only slips when we believe it will. Be a little careless. Eat gelato, watch tomatoes grow off the plant tended to in the window. Brush out your curls, let the wind take you somewhere. Ride a bike. Plan the trip. Fall in love, take more risks.

It is July, after all.

Jump into this ripeness with both hands and emerge, sticky and laughing.