February 2019
I am on some kind of healing, awakening journey. Aren’t we all if we keep our eyes open? I’ve traded in Snapchat, Facebook, and television for music, eye contact, physical touch, and questions such as, “How does that make you feel?” I feel a curiosity for the world that I haven’t felt since I was a child. How does this mechanism work? If it is broken can I fix it? Why are you the way that you are? Who am I? Where does the soul go after it leaves the body? Is gluten the reason I am irritable? What does my child need in this moment that she is expressing rage, a hug? Someone to just acknowledge her feelings? Is it possible to pick up my hurt only to be able to set it back down so that I can breathe?
I long to feel the forest under my bare feet. The sap from the conifers bringing needle and skin together. The ferns tickling my thigh while the sunlight dapples across my head. To come back to my roots, to the earth, where we all begin and end, intertwined together in a realm of our own. To hear the drum of a woodpecker on bark and the hum of a dragonfly buzzing by. I want it so badly that I find myself calling the geese home for spring. Envisioning the rain that cleanses our state just in time for my Zodiac to take its turn, and for the leap of my future that is 29.
I’m nose deep in novels consisting of family traumas passed down through generations, the wild wolf woman that lives inside of me, how to communicate according to a Buddhist monk, and why birds are so special. I am here, now, taking it all in. The world moves around me, shapes and shadows, shifting through the days. But I am digging down deep. I am becoming. I have stopped, and I can smell the roses. I welcome you, I am you. The pulse of the earth beats on, and there you are. -JL
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