When love is in reach but you hesitate because you still don’t believe in yourself and all the color of this year is at your feet, gone. Before you a path, adventure, yet you focus on the roots, and the rocks, and the soil.
Bring your awareness to the green, the leaves yet to turn, the experiences yet to color your life, the future. As the squirrel gathers crab apples from the tree, finding just the right one and nibbling to it’s core. Knowing that it’s harvest. Knowing that more yellow and brown leaves will fall and the trees will soon be barren in frigid wind and short light.
Bud and Tina were close. They’d been that way since junior year in high school. Even though Tina went off to the west coast to pursue her acting career she kept in touch mostly by social media, but on occasion, usually in a semi drunken state, she’d call him just to say hi. Bud almost seemed to know she was going to call just as he knew that some day they’d be more than friends.
That day has not yet come, but after this weekend’s meet up in Meredith he was confident that she realized that they have a very deep connection. Tina admitted to him that she feels his warmth and loving touch right down to her roots. We’ll see!
Samantha was very popular. It seemed she had a new date every Saturday night. She knew that if she sucked in her stomach and contorted her body in just the right way her email would be flooded with likes from the dating site she used.
Dale took this shot. Up until today she wondered how Sam managed to find so many available men. Now it was obvious. Dale was quite attractive but always the person behind the camera. She had an eye for light and balance, and enjoyed the way her photos came out. She’ll never bend or shape herself into what someone might want and because of that she didn’t date much, which was ok because she didn’t want a lot of dates. She wanted just one date.
When you choose to love for who they are. When the parts of them that are not pretty, but hardened and stubborn and want to reach up to the light or down into the earth, but still want growth, life. When full acceptance of their joyous passions and their tortured wounds are met with your mindful embrace.
“From her heart grows a tree” whose bark has peeled and chipped, now leaving exposed wood growing moss and green creatures fertile with new life to pass. She is solid below the surface, and confident the new chapter will take root.
Thank you Melanie. See her post here. I hope I did this right! 🙂
Their love spanned decades and is still going even now as they near the end. Even now when they are no longer able to speak to each other. Hold each other. Smell the scent of each others breath. Even now when they each lie in separate beds being tended to by strangers whose compassion is not able to save them from their final breaths. Even now when their end is near.
Farewell.
To Jan and Jim whose eyes, smiles and hearts touched me so deeply. I miss you. I love you. Until we meet again.
She waits for him to come and take her away, to pull her out roots and all, from the only place she’s known. To remove the memories, the familiar places she still visits, because she can’t. She can’t remove them.
She waits for his new love to heal her. To open her and bring her to where she knows she should be. To complete the accent.
She waits for him to join her in the work. The light. The love. The help meant to raise vibrations and lift hearts.
Snow holding long blue shadows from trees too numb to notice their bark hardened by experiences. They are grouped in families, standing alone or just now emerging but all share this moment as light fills one side and casts darkness onto another.
I’ve been stalking myself for about a year.
It all started when I asked the universe for someone that had the same expression of love as I do. When I asked I set into motion a journey that was quite surprising. Asking for someone like you would naturally mean that you know who you are. I didn’t expect to learn much about myself because, after all, I’m 60 years old and have had many experiences including some profound mystical ones. Really, what could I possibly not know about myself right?
Slowly the layers began to peel. As time passed, I saw glimpses of the real me, buried deep amongst layers of the mundane and I realized that in some ways I’ve been numb.
Deep, deep stuff came up. Even the stuff that I already worked on. Even the stuff that I thought was over, done. Jeez.
But I forged ahead keeping my head up and my outlook positive because I really want to step into the next chapter of my life, and I think I now have. I have, at least, acknowledged the shift in seasons and have embraced the new growth of spring and the melting of the snow, and the warmth of the sun that removes the numbness of my mind.
Spring will soon be here and I’m looking forward to my long blue shadow replaced with a golden light on pale green saplings and mud. And I’m most looking forward to the possibility of my mate, the one with the same expression, to come into my life.
I am but a tree beside the road. Placed atop a small mound, my lower trunk bends from the years of giving, of responding. My roots are not fully covered by the ground now frozen, my tips exposed.
I want some nice person to come by and cover my roots with rich soil, warm, cover me so that I will stay here by the side of the road. I want to stay and grow. I want to become like the tree across the road, big, old, wise, branches brown and strong. Leaves that turn bright orange or burnt red. Shade that cools and protects. I want to stay to become the tree across the road. Because I know I can.
But now I sit, roots exposed, cold. Wanting and wanting to be moved, or changed. Knowing that some day the change will come. Spring will be here. The ground will thaw.
I sit gazing through the window pane that separates me from the outdoors, the world. Hard glass, strong and clear filling me with clarity and devotion. Outside the world turns in a hectic rhythm.
When will my words fall upon thee?
Watching the sun set on the twinkling leaves, fluttering like wings of a sparrow. Winter wind blowing, puffing, twinkling, blowing. Darkness falls as I sit.
Blessed phone when will you ring?
Patience begins to wear thin on the small twigs that hold my leaves. But I will be strong! Hold tightly small twigs, to the fluttering desires that are my leaves. The desires that flutter as wings within my heart. Let not the wind blow these for they are my mission. And I will stand so full of life. My bark facing the winter chill. Hold will I to these precious leaves that bear witness of love.
For the cold winter’s bellow shall not take them from me today.
Grounded Wisdom 