Tidbits of wisdom come from unexpected sources, like messages found inside Dove Promise candy wrappers, this one attributed to Sotiria S. from New Jersey:

Be fiercely authentic.

What are the chances of my receiving the same mandate from the same large bag of chocolates, within the week preceding New Year’s? I do pay attention to such synchronizations. An uncanny authority emanates from these three words, its preponderance feels heavy, like there’s no choice—seeded within everyone’s birthright.

Long years and terminal illness suggest unalterable limits that juice the remaining seeds in my birthright like slushy grapes in a wine press, even to the last drop. In prayer, I watch fresh wine splashing within earthenware vessels, its rings evidence fresh acceptance and willingness to move into the Unknown. But more juicing, over which I’ve no control, lies ahead, despite its diminishment sapping the vitality of my body, in preparation for what is certainly coming.

So this mandate, a viable practice for wherever life finds you, stands for another twenty-four hours:

Be fiercely authentic.

Its fruits invigorate our psychic depths, develop unique spirits, and precipitate reckless abandonment to the Realm of Being, within all that is.