Photo by Megan Marcinkus I can trace back through my entire life, and see how even when the fear kicked in, She was always there, an aspect of myself taking soft sure footsteps. Carefully placed footsteps, made with the entire foot, spreading out and gripping the terrain, reading it. Accepting guidance from the cosmos, fine-tuning her compass to the constellations. Feet searching for roots. Feet searching for texture and temperature. Feet reading the surface for clues as to what lived and breathed underneath. Spirit open for the gift of feathered wings sprouting from the solid trunk of a tree rooted for eternity in one place. The under story. Animating force. That which bursts into being when the slabs of concrete shame fall away. Recently an old dream haunts and reminds. A gentle woman with long dark hair shows me a bit of earth. I watch to where her hand is indicating and see some leaves and then a stem, and finally a bud make its way up through the earth and into bloom
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I'll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about. Ideas, language, even the phrase each other doesn't make any sense.--Rumi