Movement in the Mountains
I am moved by process when I join a group of people. We work to connect with the wilderness in a gentle, inquisitive way, discovering our deep relations here, learning what individual work is here for us to do.
My body now misses the early morning sunlight beaming across the Berkshire mountain range, the daily praise walks, the natural fields, the old trees filled with experiences, the nurturing guides, the comforting vulnerability of a soul tribe.
The take-away juiciness surfaces, and I swim into a shifted sense of self: how do I now orient to a newfound allegiance?
I’m newly born, alone again, trusting that I now can trust myself—the trees told me it is so.
I am drawn to know what my desires really feel like. I’m steadied by the benevolent symbols, the plethora of beauty, the voices from the trees that drift within my ears, speaking through space—making meaning. I find the truth in the words, “you create your own reality.” You dance with each person a special dance; you make that dance happen, and magic is brewed, energy is released…exquisitely.
I’m a dancer; I’m an artist. I’m going public.
You create your own reality as you pry away from old meanings—conformed meanings that lie broken on the backs of a society we can’t rely on anymore. Choiceless and brave, you move ever forward to this unknown. You move through the fear of befriending and trusting deeper parts of yourself—parts inherently, consistently unknown, except when provoked by dreams, movement, music, stillness and nature.
This part of yourself is typically unknown because it flows over our broken-down, rigid thinking about the way things are suppose to be. The unshakeable truth rattles, life constantly reverberating in its multidimensional fields of attention, orienting to sifting sands of reality.
The possibilities seem to be enormous as we evolve back to the garden.
The possibilities seem to be enormous.
Those around you may not understand you. They may not be ready, yet you touch a part of them that is hidden away, cast out, larger than their waking dream, active in the underworld of inactivity.
You rattle their cage as you come to be in yourself.
And the more you come to yourself, the louder the rattle. The louder the rattle, the more you come back to the garden. The more you return to the garden, the more you find your way: reality expands, beautiful and whole, connected.
Persistent little bird, making the effort to do a little dance for me, telling me, telling me, “be with yourself as I am showing you—strong, alive, engaged and persistent.”
And the great old tree of our society’s family line, massive broken branches crashed around like a battlefield of forced surrender. Green life arising nonetheless, telling me there are new possibilities here that I never anticipated, emerging.
Let go of what you had hoped for and be hopeful for what is to come.
The dawning of interconnectivity, hearts learning to work together, impossible otherwise.
Death, rebirth, death, rebirth. Death.
You cannot move toward beauty without centering your heart. Those who don’t, won’t make it.
We must find connection, rattle the unknown, trust what is within us. Love the process.