This garden I live in has become full of Winter life.
The naked trees cannot shelter nor hide all the beings out there, that are pushed and pulled by the Wind. Asking the branches firmly to let go of their last grip of the Summer passed. Releasing now, realizing that death is inevitable and must come before the Spring can rise and let them stretch yet again into their green leaves and flower bloom burstings.
The remaining figs on the naked bush are still coming to terms with their destiny and cannot grasp how come they never ripened before the frost set in.
The life out there disturbs my concentration, yet again. I am called upon to come out and play. To become a child again. Eternally youthful. Not even considering the dangers of life- those thoughts that only enter your mind as you start worrying and forget the truth of who you really are. My guess is it happens at the first heartbreak, but I’m unsure of when that first heartbreak happens.. Sometime in school when you are considered mad for talking to your friends – I mean the ones that grown ups can’t see- and then taught to believe that what you know is real is unreal. Somewhere there..
The life in the nature this time of year is full of oddity and strange amusement. If I am not careful I will be led astray.. and who knows how far I will wander into the forest this time, and when I will come back. I wonder then if mosses and fungi will have grown on my nose and arms, as I too feel the breath of Winter age and death at the end of this Journey, but not yet they promise, not yet, still promises to keep and those miles still seem endless.. if I will have become full one with my Tree Lady-Sprit friend, as she says she still has lots to tell me show me imprint me teach me and to bring her stories back to tell the people who are beginning to hide in their square houses and believe in the news and are becoming awfully weird and afraid of living. She hugs me a little tighter every time, as if my visits are too short and not frequent enough.
One day that Forest will absorb me.
And I am moving closer and closer to those hills and fields and trees and sea shore over these years. Merging with that place of silent space crowned by a circle of trees and then rocks. She sang to me and showed me her Heart. The conversations in that place that began as exchange of signs to follow, buzzards hovering above me, then voices, songs of Thunder Hearts to transformation and deep purging and direct signs have emptied out and become wordless, a state that has no direct or felt change from here to there. A becoming has taken place. I am that. Now.
An extension of Her Wild. It is within. It runs within me now as much as I run within Her.
All I ask now I’m there is not for sights or quests. For answers on the Wind or in the embrace exchange of Heart charge with my Tree.
It is just to be a voice for her stories, before they are forgotten and no one will care for Elves or conversations with Trees or going for council in the wilderness and wait for answers brought to you by a passerby squirrel or by night when the Owl circles around you. To experience how to be received and held. Comforted even. Nourished. Healed.
Before we forget that language, as perhaps these words are one of those Stories she wanted to tell.
..And the elves and beings dancing in my Garden are the ones who are waiting by the Fire outside my door at night. I go reluctantly, knowing my limited time, even if they promise to stretch it for me while with them, having wrapped myself in a blanket, bringing a mug of warm tea also for them and go listen to their odd songs and stories and tales.
We laugh heartedly at the strangeness of the acts in this world, but the stories they bring from the otherworld and the in between are soon all that matters.
The fox joins us and soon the owl from the neighbor’s tree. Other eyes shining in the darkness as they catch and reflect a flame from the Fire. Such a party out here at night.
I make a promise, a new vow to come more often.
Image credit: John Bauer