Fresh water mixes with salt.
The gateway brackish,
murky,
churning.
Swimming against the angry currents of
struggle,
despair,
and loss.
Riding the tides with
flexibility
and fortitude,
trust
and patience.
Constantly changing conditions stir hope and determination.
Survival requires adaptability.
Leaving the familiar marshes of the small, quiet stream
to swim in the wide open playground of the ocean.
This choice
a devotion.
This river of tears
leads to an ocean of joy.
The rest of the trees in the woods seem to stand so confident, so steady.
The storms have not hindered their ability to carry on.
And there I lay right next to them…toppled to the ground,
Root exposed.
So vulnerable and feeling like such a failure.
No longer am I the source of shade, fresh air, and refuge for the birds.
How could I be so weak?
How could I let so many down?
As I lay across the forest floor I feel the earth not just at my base but nestling in all along my spine, roots to branches.
I feel the soft mud, leaves of seasons past, and creatures that inhabit the ground delighting in my arrival.
New spaces to be cradled, to play in, and explore.
I am no longer giving nourishment through my leaves and breath but I am feeding the forest now with my whole being.
I am no longer drawing from the source of nourishment at my roots but I am the source itself.
With roots exposed, like bearing the deepest corners of my heart, I have nothing to protect and everything to give.
Fallen and seemingly over my prime, I am just now realizing that my purpose was not to stand tall but to fall into an even more grand state of being.
To the north I find the earth and sky.
The east brings new beginnings.
The west lowers the veil of transition, the mark of endings.
It is in the south where I meet my soul.
We sit and watch the rising and setting sun cast against the earth and sky over and over again.
Humbly and joyfully admiring the ever changing landscape of transitions, the beauty in the unknown as it takes shape each dawn and dusk, and the vast expanse of opportunity in between.
I send messages to myself in little ways to care more, nourish better, rest more fully, And then I blatantly ignore those messages.
I harden on the outside, contract on the inside, and push on at the most critical junctures because sometimes it’s easier to set myself up for the transition by considering myself broken and needing fixing.
So I let myself become weak, vulnerable, malnourished just so I can love and tend to myself.
It seems an innate component of the mechanics of being that sometimes we need to breakdown to build up.
Monday Mindfulness 