Believe

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We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals that deep inside us something is valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our trust, sacred to our touch.  Once we believe in ourselves we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight or any experience that reveals the human spirit.

– E.E. Cummings

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Because there is just so much good to believe in.

Forest Lover

I recently had a conversation with a friend about my love for the forest.  She asked if I always felt akin to the forest and where I thought this affinity came from.  I found this incredibly thought-provoking, and sat down to write about my love for the forest.

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It is not so much the place, as it is the feeling.  I know no greater peace, than the sense of self that the forest and trees have given me.  I cannot say if I went in with my eyes wide open, but I do know I see it all with billions of glimmering notions of hope and life.  To notice the beginnings and the whole, is a blessing and a clarity of self.  I exist within the successive stages of movement and silence.  An entrance into one, is an invitation from the next.

The forest does not judge or shout.  Time moves forward, patterning evolutionary works of life and knowledge; keeping some safe and discarding the rest.  Work is done for no one, yet everything cooperates in timed unison.  No one is left out, yet each is responsible for solo survival and tenacity of life.  Beauty is written and re-written with every bud to blossom, seedling to sapling, fawn to doe and completion of the waxing and waning of sun and moon cycles.  Just as the moonflower syncs itself with the rising of the moon and the setting of the sun, so do I.

I watch the miracle of life exist all around me.  I scoop low, collecting years of decaying duff, knowing this will grow the next generation of giants.  I find peace with awareness of the wolves ranging the ridge above my home.  I am a lone wolf.  My pack is you, me and the in-between.  I belong to the forest.  To the sea of trees. To the wild and the steadfast.    The trees have nestled into my heart, and in return I bed at their beginnings.

Transition takes a hold of all of us.  The beauty of existence, is taking part of that cyclical change of time over roots.  Grounding ones-self, but growing into something better and stronger with every exhale of life.

Green to black.

Living to dead.

Rain to snow.

Up to down.

Small to tall.

All of it, always happening, all around us, all the time.  Me, I’m breathing it in so very, very deep.  All of it.  I am a forest lover.  Yes, that is what I am.

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Go be wild, you beautiful pack of lone wolves.

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