Not a committee of twelve,
The still small voice is more like a whisper.
It is the cool north breeze on a hot day.
It is the sound of the sunflower opening its petals.
It is the scent of the Jasmine, "chose me for your hair."
It is the voice I listen to.
I call this voice my spirit voice.
It a beautiful voice.
It is a chrip, a look at me.
This is the voice of joy and of sadness.
It is with this voice I fall in love and in wonder.
With this voice I fly over the rainbow.
I call this sweet voice my feeling voice.
I honor this voice.
All sorts of instructions come with this voice.
Yesterday the voice said, "Buy bananas."
Over and over it insisted.
I explained, "I buy bananas in the winter.
The store is twenty minutes away, I will put it on the list."
After an hour of non-stop bagering, I relented.
I dressed and went to the store.
I bought bananas.
"Eat banana." Here we go again.
I thought they were for the butterflies.
I ate a banana.
In about 15 minutes I started to feel good.
I was not tired.
I call this voice the body voice.
I seldom listen.
I am listening now.
I ate a banana this morning with out prompting.