Journal Entry — May 8
Updated: Oct 7
In memory of Celeste Elise
An iris, radiant in its quiet brilliance.
Delicate, wild, and sure of herself. No fanfare, no audience—just a soft bloom in the cool evening light. I don’t need the calendar to know the date. My soul remembers.
Each spring, the irises bring her back to me, and tonight I turned to words from The Box: Remembering the Gift that have stayed with me: “What in your life is calling you, when all the noise is silenced, the meetings adjourned… the lists laid aside, and the wild iris blooms by itself in the dark forest… what still pulls on your soul?”
Even now, in the quiet spaces between grief and grace, it is Celeste who still calls to me like a lullaby—her coos linger in my soul with a pull to notice, and a nudge to feel, the grace that softens everything.
There’s something sacred about how irises unfurl. Unhurried. Unbothered by who notices. As if they know their purpose is fulfilled simply by being.
Celeste was like that.
I miss her, but in moments like this, I also feel her. Not in the sharp edges of loss, but in the sudden bloom of memory. In the whisper to keep listening—to my soul, to the stillness, to the call beneath the noise.
Today, my pace is a little slower. My breath a little fuller. I love more intentionally, with all that I am.
For her. With her.
The wild iris bloomed, and so did a mother's heart.
The quoted passage is attributed to the Terma Collective, from The Box: Remembering the Gift, published by the Terma Company in Santa Fe in 1992.
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