What do we do now?

What do we do with it all?

The memories, the feelings, the associations.

Everything we now carry since we’ve emptied our packs and unshouldered their weight.

A summer that somehow felt like lifetimes, all wrapped and rolled into an amorphous mass in the center of my being, begging to be unraveled and lived, again and again.

l get flashbacks that rock through my body and leave me breathless.

Yesterday, it had me bawling.

The simplest things…

like positive trauma –

Walking behind Wes.

A cup of tea cradled in my cold hands, breath billowing out in front of me, mingling with the vast, scenic view.

Hearing Cozy singing softly up trail, the words floating back like little clouds.

They go down my throat and nestle into my heart space, to stay.

Moments planted and growing over everything, like vines, inviting new life unto itself yet blocking the light.

Do I rip them down and let them die? Or let them grow and see what happens?

I don’t know.

. . . . . . .

Some days, the memories that surface through the over-spastic brain-static cause tears to tumble down my cheeks. Other days, laughter bubbles up from my core and bursts out of my mouth, surprising even me.

I never know what it will be. What I’ll be faced with, when I open the door to a flow of feelings asking for welcome. I know I must love it unconditionally. Embrace it as a friend, give it my full attention while it’s visiting within, and let it go completely when it leaves.

And then… maybe a third option will arise. The trail taught me to climb. To love the ascension – the work that it takes to lift oneself up. Because then you can see. You can stand clearly in the light once more, breathing freely. Maybe those vines growing so rapidly around me are an opportunity to climb and see my life from a higher perspective.

. . . . . . .

A lesson that dirt path reverberated into my every footstep, insistently, profuse and profound –

One. Step. At. A. Time.

Breathe and walk…

Walk and breathe.

Trust the path in front of you. Move forward, however slow, however painful.

Move forward.

To stagnate is to give in to a slow, unnecessary lifelessness.

Is there a word?

Is there?

A word for tree inspired spiritual expansion?

Or for the way dark moss hangs and sways in the breezes. Eery and mystical, alive but not of this life. Not of this world.

How about… the sound scree makes below your feet when you’re thousands of feet up and soul-sailing the morning wind?

Is there a word for that?


Tinkling. Chiming. Singing.

Rock music…

Real rock music.

It uses your bones and breath and Earth around you as it’s¬†instruments.

How about the way the world comes alive, reveals herself to you when you choose to lose yourself in her magic; her forests and wildernesses.

Forget separation. Forget limits. You’re here. You can do anything.

Be… anything.

That feeling… floating within yourself, outside the Self, here there and everywhere, all at once, intrinsically connected to everything that is or was or ever will be.

Remember: there’s more to this reality than what we perceive.

(Ooor is there?)

That’s for you to decide, dear dreamer.

It’s whatever you want it to be.

. . . . . . .

You’re the director. You decide. You’re the actor, you play it out. The cameraman, boom operator, lighting technician. Name what’s fun or challenging in an inspiring way, and do that. Learn something new, for your future Self’s sake.

Find out exactly how you most like to live.

And live like that.