prayers

Weavers

Sitting on a storm fallen tree by our pond I'm aware of all that has been laid by hand to tame it. Stumps rolled to lay at its side, with good intentions for afternoons spent watching life unfold beneath the surface. Stumps now barely visible beneath thick tall grass. A length of rope twisted around a coniferous tree that I still can't find the name of. 

I'm remembering the old language, the language of timelessness, the language of plant teachers, the way of energy. There is an ancient pulse that is ever present, a voice of wisdom so willing to share with all who are present, and through surrender we swim within its sacred space. 

The pace of nature is severely contrasted by human expectation. When I first began to visit this land I would drive down from the city and take long naps in the cabin. It wasn't my intention to take mid-day naps but it was the medicine that the land offered me, it was a sense of peace I wasn't cultivating within my 21 year old self. I was working in bars, self medicating with anything that could distract and keeping myself busy, so busy in fact that I let many months pass by without consideration. 

Perpetual action is impractical and goes against the currents of natural rhythm. It is not sustainable and sooner or later we must rest. If we allow ourselves to be devoted to self care practices each day we are able to weave together a life of profound possibilities, one that is born from our whole self. Through creative action, reflection, joy and restoration we allow ourselves to fully expand into the depths of our wildness. You must not settle for where you are kept small.