
Whole.
Steady.
Relaxed.
Desiring.
Creative.
Joyful.
Confident.
Protected.
Assured.
Loving.
Receiving.
Humble.
Gentle.
Clear.
Consistent.
Allowing.
Steady.
Wise.
Open.
Graceful.
Free.

Whole.
Steady.
Relaxed.
Desiring.
Creative.
Joyful.
Confident.
Protected.
Assured.
Loving.
Receiving.
Humble.
Gentle.
Clear.
Consistent.
Allowing.
Steady.
Wise.
Open.
Graceful.
Free.

I ask not that you change or conform.
You need not worry if who I am is not who you want me to be.
Let’s not need to hold hands in unity,
but hold hearts with respect.
I will not squash who I am,
or expect you to assimilate.
Even if I do not walk in your shoes, I offer you accompaniment,
so that we are both seen and heard and the rhythm and
harmony of our movement through life,
offers a flavorful contrast
for all the world to remember
the value of their own melody.

One day this single path abruptly split in two.
The potential in both directions was intriguing and alluring,
albeit a bit daunting.
The split itself brought much spaciousness and beauty,
a chance to pause and survey the widespread landscape of the past and present,
confirming there could be no wrong steps forward,
the divide simply an invitation to reawaken to this journey
and joyfully take the next step.

This newness thrills and enlivens me,
as the old ways woo me with protection and predictability.
It’s exhausting,
at times,
this dance!
Leaving it all behind too quickly there is no room to pause,
to catch my breath,
to reset.
Slowing too much
makes it difficult to find a rhythm in the steps.
and so I spin
and twirl
and feel my breath and body
slightly losing control,
occasionally stepping out of sequence,
joyfully embracing the imperfection,
and that’s when I know
I’m doing it right.

Finding the balance between expressing and encroaching,
between stepping back and leaning in.
There are moments to blend
and times to expand.
Expressing one’s colors
requires softness and boldness,
the ability to complement and hold up another and still stand fully on your own.
Today, will it be accent or statement?
There are places to be both.

I stop to touch the tree trunk as I walk by.
My nose perceives the sweetness of bright white clusters of flowers on the horizon and the moistness of the ground beneath me.
I watch as stillness and movement come and go.
I sense the invisible currents of the air
that bring me sounds,
some familiar and many more curious.
This is the work of being on this earth.
Not leaving memories,
but making them.

Let it all flow…
Hot and messy
like a volcano.
Root down and rise up,
Stop your feet,
Get low to the ground.
Burst with great force,
triumphantly,
unapologetically,
into the sky
Release the big
and scary
and frustrating.
Shake like a wet dog when you feel stuck or over burdened.
Curl inward and rest until you remember your power.
You are magnificent.
You
are
magnificent.

Gnarled or free flowing.
Grasping or outstretched.
From its center point,
form expands in two directions,
mirrored in the spread of itself confidently into the earth
and it’s expansion courageously into the air.
Nourishment flowing.
Survival impossible without the reflections
of grounding,
of stretching,
of growth,
of change.
One feeding the other,
feeding the other.
Separate in apparent function.
Symbiotic existence as one.

Oh, the wisdom and the entanglement of memories that accompany me
along the path of rising over resistance.
Cutting through the cords of debris from the past.
Mired in the mud of judgment and unmet expectations.
Stuck in the quagmire of fear.
The truth, like a sword, clears the rumination,
making way for the realization that
I can choose growth over stagnation,
healing over habits,
and triumph with awareness and agility,
as I change and make good,
drawing with power on my past.

Precariously perched on outstretched limbs of past experiences.
Formed of familiar coping mechanisms.
Unable to adapt to the changing conditions.
Heavy with the weight of others bearing down.
Recognizing the temporary nature of this existence.
One swift gust of wind.
One sudden yank from gravity.
All semblance of control,
all sense of purpose and being, melts away
in the free fall.
Crashing into the next newest version of self.