Freedom

Freedom is in your awareness.

In knowing, what grows beside you as tendrils from your stem, your root. Maybe something from the past. A relationship, or wrong doing or mistreatment. They grow out of you and share your soil, your nourishment, and your light. Only when you become aware of those shoots, can you choose not to feed them. Only when you become aware of their life tangled and intermingled with your roots, can you choose to discard them.

Even then, even when you choose to slay their gnarled intrusion, even then, you still may not be aware that this life is just a small part of who you are.

Your task is to know this and grow. Because when your roots are fairly set, you can reach and grow no matter what the past brought, or what the future will bring.

I am the tree

Not just my thoughts, as leaves at the mercy of wind and rain or snow, who tumble and lift and twist but will not release from my branch. Sometimes bright green or vibrant or not at all.

Not just my desires as branches solid yet pliable and willing, lifting and sagging, bending with that wind and that rain. Sometimes breaking in dispare from a storm or the weight of snow.

Not just my body as a trunk, the years adding in rings, the bark hardening and becoming brittle. Sometimes eaten or pecked at devoured or decayed.

Not just my heart as roots wound and thick, outstretched, breaking the hardened soil and grounding me to the earth. Sometimes cut or pruned from negativity, making them turn and curl like toes grasping for the moment.

No. I am the tree, solid and tall, whole in all seasons and all weather.

Choose

My brow of sweat like children on a playground. Full and loud. Only warm water to drink yet joy fills my heart as I witness another, wings full, colorful and light.

In clear moments we see that we have a choice. That we don’t have to just let life choose for us.

We then realize that up to that moment of clarity, we were never ready for a new relationship because we had to trust ourselves, believe in ourselves, know that we could succeed on our own. We needed to know that we were all that we needed before we could depend on someone else.

Only then. Only then will we be ready for an equal relationship, that is based not only on the security of being a dependent, but also on the equality of being independent.

Out of the frost

chirps of cardinals, wind pushing cool air onto my cheek rosy with frost, fresh and tingling almost burning, my steps rhythmic crunching and crunching as I move forward in my desire, the desire to change the landscape of my life from frost to mud, then warm sun, golden

Out of the frost I move with conviction to change.

What kind of person

What kind of person thinks of this when someone mentions “the morning after”?

What kind of person is willing to have cold feet just so that they can break the trail?

What kind of person only takes a sip of water or removes their glove in the sunny parts because they don’t want to cool off too quickly?

What kind of person thinks that the soft glow of the sun as it filters through silver trees and blue snow is one of the most beautiful sights in winter?

Me. Grateful. Happy.

Hats and hats

I’ve been making hats big, small, different colors and patterns. They’re crocheted around and constructed from the inside out so that I’m making a bowl that just keeps getting bigger. They’re awful but I can’t stop making them. It’s something about the process, the circle round or the fact that it’s a bowl I’m not sure but I keep showing up at family member’s homes announcing that I’ve arrived with another bag full of ill-fitting hats. Maybe it is a way for me to start a new year, a new ring around my life.

The forest’s exhale

Crunchy steps under spiked boots on mud and ice. Slow drops on branch tips unable to decide if they were liquid or solid. Rain and 37 degrees making wet clothes from the rain and from the sweat. Raw wind as welcome relief from my body overheating, yet the air was fresh. The forest’s exhale was a gift. Despite the unpleasant conditions, the externals, the air brought me to the moment. The perfect moment when my sweaty body was refreshed. The misty raw air, hitting my face was wet and wild and alive, and I was free from that which was unpleasant.

May this year bring you the freedom to be wet and wild and alive and not be pulled out of that beautiful moment by externals.

Monday at noon

My breath labored. Yesterdays footprints taken by the wind. Sun heightening snows colors as crystals of blue, and purple, and an occasional red.

It was just an ordinary day but it wasn’t because I was not in the office. Instead, I was hiking, as I wish I could always be. There before me was the most wonderful moment, quiet except for my breath and the wind clanking frozen tree branches like windchimes. In that moment I closed my eyes and became one with the land, happily, no presents, no pressure to get it right or be right, the best holiday ever.