Some days I walk with such vigor at the start, needing distance from where I began. Those days I fully desire a place to hold me, the way I hold others. To be witnessed fully. So often mistaken, so often named by others.
There are other days where I begin slowly, allowing softness and lingering stillness in all movement. Matching the pulse of the land with generosity, kneeling to hold plants, or opening arms wide for an ash. These are our ancestors ripe with knowing.
I come here to listen to their songs, witness their dance, the way they take root, the way they dissolve with grace. To be a witness to the reciprocity of all things. The giving of each being in support of the collective whole, something we have forgotten as people. Something the hearty are working to revive.
I walk these woods in desperation, sometimes. Given support whole heartedly by the water beneath my feet. I come to the water and sit, patiently. I’ve remembered how to pose questions to those who always share their knowledge. I ask what medicine I can share for those who trust my voice. Once, the water told me “It all keeps moving.” I had dissolved relationships and pieces of myself. I carry those words with me as protection, nourishment to return to.
I am humble listening to the heart beat, feeling wholly alive by tightness of biting air.
Held in awe by your presence.
I say a prayer when I arrive, or when I leave and I am heard.