I tend to write blog posts like love letters, though mine have such intention woven within them, I tuck them away, never to be seen, maybe as love letters to myself, or to the ether or for a day that it all fits and unfurls like a well loved and trusted slow growing seed.
A lot of my communication lately has been in the dialect of reciprocity. I find myself writing less while the thoughts, observations, feelings ans information breeze through me. My body set to motion daily, Im working on a new form, a different way of being. This awareness often creeps in between meal making, farming, tending to children and a life unfolding, I think I want to share reflections and open up pathways to expansion with community and then a vreeze sweeps me away and I laugh and laugh at the play that is being.
A new move is on its way. A portal has been offered. One which is of a dream. A long life dream, one that I not so quietly kept in my favorite place in my heart, but never knew how it would come to be. I just keep waking up and taking steps toward what feels in truest alignment for me. Despite every obstacle or interruption which easily could have distracted me into oblivion, somehow I just keep waking, in devotion, to this living dream.
As I pluck the unintentional plant life from the field of sunflowers, zinnias, bachelor button, amaranthus, dhalia, marigold, snapdragon, the words come tumbling from heart to hand, from spirit to land.
Sometimes I try to catch a few, like fireflies. I stumble after my phone hidden in dirt somewhere likely overheating as a child appears from the wood and tells me of an ancient map he has found or a complaint he has with his current reality. I try to type out what I can remember that felt profound or as if it would be helpful in sharing. The day goes on and my body becomes sore, we nourish ourselves and sing songs, we tune in and drop out. What is it "the years are short but the days are long". Something to that effect. Its a psychadelic experience just being human and to be so at this time of deepest recognition, the tip of transformation if we so choose it. All of it has me so alive. Here. Now. Without need to say much, because Im really busy with doing.
It takes a lot of grace for me to believe everything is ok. The practice is continuous. Allowing, surrendering, learning.
But then I get to thinking other thoughts, overwhelming me, I desire to make a difference toward freeing all beings, I want to give A Garden For A New World space for birthing, I want, I think, I feel.. Another wave, am I mindful of my beed to survive, maybe I should help my business and be more of this or that or am I using my gifts the way I should be and then you just keep living and moving because you have to. You have to keep going. Even when resting. Its all an act of loving.
So field notes, maybe could be a place where I share bits and pieces of the ramblings. Maybe it will become something, I trust it either way.
Today the field kept telling me
It was loud and very clear. What can feel like a divine intervention. When you allow yourself to just ve a conduit, a curious student, the way messages come in and through and dance around you.
Every existing creation upon this planet, within our galaxy, beyond the limits and confines of human imaginations, all of it is connected in symbiotic relation.
When a space in the garden is taken over by an invasive my reaction cannot be "I hate this, it makes me angry because it isnt what I wanted and so I must destroy every aspect of it" my response must be "what is asking, what is needing". The soil is continuously speaking. If a row of seedlings barely emerges and comes to life aching my response has to be considering. What is lacking, what is missing from the foundation of this being that it isnt in its strongest life form? The more I get to know the soil, the more I understand what its saying.
I am in an intimate relationship to the earth because it is an intimate relationship to self. All of it, each of us, everything connected. So we must give it all care.
In the Martin Prechtel lecture Grief and Praise, Prechtel references the damage done by 5 generations of men not being allowed to grieve. We are a culture which has been so disconnected from our very precious humannness for so long we can look out into the world and other our way into dieing. Because if one is dead because of injustice. If one is dead because of lack of care. If one is dead because of inequality, harm, abuse, fear, needs unmet. We are all dead. We are all dead.
And then the soil teaches us more.
The portal to everything was my garden. It was my way out of a very abusive, constrictive reality. It was my hope. A prayer for life. It was beauty cultivated from long neglected, poisoned, unloved "dead" soil. It seemed impossible but the earth gives endlessly. There it is in symbiotic relationship to us all, speaking and leaning in, listening and witnessing. The soil taught me what it needed to hold life, then it taught me what it needed to expand, the soil taught me everything is fluid and changing, to be playful with spirit, always open to being wrong, always curious, always a student. The soil gave me opportunity to be free of so many confines, socioeconomic, trauma based response lifestyle choices that exhausted me and depleted me to nothing. The soil gave me a chance, because the planet is always on the vibration of loving.
We have grown so disconnected and individualistic we forget that this whole bit is all there is. Even if your beliefs contain an after World this part is the only time we have as us here now in this moment.
We do not shoot at the sky when it rains, we tend to the floods.
We do not belong to anything or anyone, we dont have to play any game we do not want.
We can change the soil. We can grow abundantly.