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The Art of Returning by Dr. Deepak Dev
The Art of Returning Dr. Deepak Dev — for the ones who stayed through winter
Some winters arrive without snow —only the long ache of unfinished warmth.Even the mirrors frost inward,as if the soul has forgotten its reflection.
But the earth knows better.It keeps its promises underground —roots rehearsing resurrection,petals studying silence until they can speak again.
Renewal is not a sunrise.It’s a hand reaching through cold air,finding pulse where no pulse was expected.It’s the body remembering it once belonged to light.
Every thaw is an act of faith,not in what returns,but in what endured unseen.
When the solstice breathes its first pale dawn,I will not pray — I will listen.For in that hush,you can hear the quiet miracle of warmthdeciding to begin again.
Some winters arrive without snow —only the long ache of unfinished warmth.Even the mirrors frost inward,as if the soul has forgotten its reflection.
But the earth knows better.It keeps its promises underground —roots rehearsing resurrection,petals studying silence until they can speak again.
Renewal is not a sunrise.It’s a hand reaching through cold air,finding pulse where no pulse was expected.It’s the body remembering it once belonged to light.
Every thaw is an act of faith,not in what returns,but in what endured unseen.
When the solstice breathes its first pale dawn,I will not pray — I will listen.For in that hush,you can hear the quiet miracle of warmthdeciding to begin again.
More from Dr. Deepak Dev ↓
- @deeepak.devv on Instagram
- @drdeepakdev on Substack
- His book, Symphony of the Erased - Verses Resurged & Reclaimed, is out now.
Mentioned in this episode:
Join the mailing list to be the first to know when OPO submissions open ⬇️
🖋️ Read My Newsletter: Free Flow 🖋️
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By Maggie DeversThe Art of Returning Dr. Deepak Dev — for the ones who stayed through winter
Some winters arrive without snow —only the long ache of unfinished warmth.Even the mirrors frost inward,as if the soul has forgotten its reflection.
But the earth knows better.It keeps its promises underground —roots rehearsing resurrection,petals studying silence until they can speak again.
Renewal is not a sunrise.It’s a hand reaching through cold air,finding pulse where no pulse was expected.It’s the body remembering it once belonged to light.
Every thaw is an act of faith,not in what returns,but in what endured unseen.
When the solstice breathes its first pale dawn,I will not pray — I will listen.For in that hush,you can hear the quiet miracle of warmthdeciding to begin again.
Some winters arrive without snow —only the long ache of unfinished warmth.Even the mirrors frost inward,as if the soul has forgotten its reflection.
But the earth knows better.It keeps its promises underground —roots rehearsing resurrection,petals studying silence until they can speak again.
Renewal is not a sunrise.It’s a hand reaching through cold air,finding pulse where no pulse was expected.It’s the body remembering it once belonged to light.
Every thaw is an act of faith,not in what returns,but in what endured unseen.
When the solstice breathes its first pale dawn,I will not pray — I will listen.For in that hush,you can hear the quiet miracle of warmthdeciding to begin again.
More from Dr. Deepak Dev ↓
- @deeepak.devv on Instagram
- @drdeepakdev on Substack
- His book, Symphony of the Erased - Verses Resurged & Reclaimed, is out now.
Mentioned in this episode:
Join the mailing list to be the first to know when OPO submissions open ⬇️
🖋️ Read My Newsletter: Free Flow 🖋️