When I forget who I am, I sit at the feet of trees and listen.
I smell the earth, I watch the wind, follow the blackbird.
My cells sing soundlessly along with their mycelial cousins.
Their generosity humbles me always.
Life becomes death becomes life.
I’m so unaware, and when I look I’m overwhelmed by the gift of it:
‘Our body is already yours, your body is already ours.
Relax.’
My hands work the bodies of plants, and the bodies of others like me.
Human bodies, complexity.
So many stories in and under the skin. Rivers of pain and delight, reservoirs of essence.
Life flowing, expressing.
It unfolds and has its direction.
This is the wisdom that I align with.
*
When amnesia of my power and my choice comes upon me I drink the bitterness of wild green.
It wakes me from my mind’s slumber.
I sit among the green, brown, black and the amnesia slowly melts.
The resonance between all these tangled running root systems and mine, humming along beyond any kind of understanding I’ll ever have.
Recognition.
This is the wisdom that I align with. Nothing else.
And this line will not be broken.