R. K. Marshall

Here’s to the wild, the weird and the wonderful.

To those who ride the waves on their own seas and lose sight of the shore.

They discard the rules, the labels, and the chains that once bound them, in search of the truth of their hearts.

Here’s to the ones who are fueled by the authentic and the uncensored, no matter how gritty the taste at times.

Here’s to the mismatched puzzle pieces that don’t get invited to join in all the reindeer games, that get left behind in the dust to learn their own way to fly.

In their sacred solitude, they grace the skies with wings of freedom and a destiny born of soul fire.

To the rare, unearthly beings who walk the road less, they are travelling, taking the adventure that rises on this path with purpose and passion.

They are brought alive by the fire in their blood, and the longing threaded through them.

Here’s to the rebels, the heartsick originals, and the bittersweet loneliness that fuels their spirits to the ones who won’t conform, back down, or step aside.

To the ones who were not born to fit in but to gloriously stand out.

To those who are here to be midwives of the genuine.

To the tribe of troublemakers that think so far outside the box, they dream on the edges of the infinite.

To those who dance even though they have no idea how; who stumble and make it part of the steps, sing completely off-key and totally out of tune.

To the ones who raise their voices to the heavens even though they don’t always know the words.

Here’s to the awakened ones whose purpose is to feed their souls and not starve them.

Whose mantra is the drumbeat of their own hearts and the brilliant possibility that looms on the horizon.

To the ones who dare to be open, to feel, to love, and to live.

Here’s to the magical, the mystical, and the misunderstood.

To the wise ones who move between the shadows and the light.

To those who howl at the Full Moon and run naked in the flowing streams.

To those who read the compass written on the walls of their hearts and follow the North Star etched upon their spirit.

Here’s to the fallen, the broken, and the shattered.

To the warriors who know that to be cracked is to let the light in deeper.

Who know that the best fruit is on the very tip of the branch and the brightest jewels are hidden within the roughest of surfaces?

To the ones intoxicated by the burning of the winds of change in their lungs and who live in the lands that others fear to tread.

Here’s to the brightly coloured patchwork of divine visionaries who won’t stand down, play small, or sit out.

To the stargazers, the storm-chasers, and the Old Souls that walk this Earth.

Here’s to the wild ones.

Here’s to you in the shadows, watching Rabbi Marshall.