I've been away for awhile. I went "into the woods" of soul work. It was dark there, moldy, and full of strange sounding creatures. When I'm stumbling through the woods, too often I'm looking at my feet--watching for roots and brambles, rocks and bogs. I'm worried where to put my feet.
If I stop to look up, what I see is a "green cathedral." The enormous trees arch upward to form a ceiling; the densely packed forest shuts out less necessary parts of the world. I am uplifted by the power of silence and the lift of the enormous branches. I hear squirrels jabbering away, birds coming to roost, the wind so far above as to be almost beyond reach.
I grew up on the edge of such a woods. I spent as much time as possible there. As a pre-schooler, I got up in the morning, snuck out the back door, and whistled for my neighbor friend. Her return whistle was a sign that we should meet up in our special place. I'd head to the woods and she'd be there. We'd spend hours riding our imaginary horses, slaying imaginary foes, sweeping our imaginary capes in front of imaginary hordes. Later, as a teen, I snuck out with a book and climbed a favorite tree to read for hours.
Today, I live at the edge of a different forest. The ancient trees still speak to me in the wind high above. Out my window, some trees are a brilliant orange while others remain green or have chosen to be a bright yellow this year. It's a feast.
Alas, in the last month or so, I've not been partaking of the feast. I've been afraid of falling, consumed with watching my feet and where they're stepping. This is the sacred shit of soul work. Putting one careful foot in front of the other not noticing the call of the Universe in the perfect architecture of the trees, the astonishing palette of colors, the orchestration of sound and silence. Not noticing my body, at home in this divine arena. Obsessed with safety and self-protection.
Where is the little girl who jumped out of bed to meet her soul-mate and roam the woods fearless and unfettered? She's here. She lives in this sixtysomething body with arthritis limitations, balance issues, and worries. She's the reason we went into the woods. She's the one who will find a way out of it if she must. She's also the one who makes us look up at the Spirit moving in the high branches. She's the one who loves the woods wanting to stay and play until goblins or glory snatch us away. Roxie
If I stop to look up, what I see is a "green cathedral." The enormous trees arch upward to form a ceiling; the densely packed forest shuts out less necessary parts of the world. I am uplifted by the power of silence and the lift of the enormous branches. I hear squirrels jabbering away, birds coming to roost, the wind so far above as to be almost beyond reach.
I grew up on the edge of such a woods. I spent as much time as possible there. As a pre-schooler, I got up in the morning, snuck out the back door, and whistled for my neighbor friend. Her return whistle was a sign that we should meet up in our special place. I'd head to the woods and she'd be there. We'd spend hours riding our imaginary horses, slaying imaginary foes, sweeping our imaginary capes in front of imaginary hordes. Later, as a teen, I snuck out with a book and climbed a favorite tree to read for hours.
Today, I live at the edge of a different forest. The ancient trees still speak to me in the wind high above. Out my window, some trees are a brilliant orange while others remain green or have chosen to be a bright yellow this year. It's a feast.
Alas, in the last month or so, I've not been partaking of the feast. I've been afraid of falling, consumed with watching my feet and where they're stepping. This is the sacred shit of soul work. Putting one careful foot in front of the other not noticing the call of the Universe in the perfect architecture of the trees, the astonishing palette of colors, the orchestration of sound and silence. Not noticing my body, at home in this divine arena. Obsessed with safety and self-protection.
Where is the little girl who jumped out of bed to meet her soul-mate and roam the woods fearless and unfettered? She's here. She lives in this sixtysomething body with arthritis limitations, balance issues, and worries. She's the reason we went into the woods. She's the one who will find a way out of it if she must. She's also the one who makes us look up at the Spirit moving in the high branches. She's the one who loves the woods wanting to stay and play until goblins or glory snatch us away. Roxie
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