She felt the swaying of the wild grass as it etched the outline of her fingers. She felt its swaddling embrace and buoyancy as it cushioned her like a cloud. The tickle of it blowing under her exposed ankles. The sun on her forehead; surely creating a pink itch that she would discover a few hours later. She was happy.
Confident that her breath could not be deeper, she slowly sat up in the grass, but kept her eyes closed as to linger the peaceful feeling longer throughout her; merging it deeper into her spirit. She had heard what was next.
As the mind of worry was at the flood gates, she embraced her bliss and with wide-eyes, rose up with the glare of the light still creating her vision. She began to run; feet pounding rhythmically, hoping to hold the freedom within her before the voice of ‘can’t’ could stall her.
Is this you? I often feel it is me. My heart sits quiet and the magic of dreams bubble up; it’s an unstoppable and connected feeling of how you will impact the lives of others, while elevating your very own. It’s possibility, and it can feel as hard to grasp as the wind.
Where do our triumphs live? Do we ever really appreciate them until they are in hind sight? Marveling at our magnificence can feel like a selfish task at times.
I used to wonder where my life tools were hiding; constantly seeking new experiences to hopefully reveal some new mental hardware that would offer healing and growth. Lingering in the environment was never really part of my excitement. Once I had my lesson, my tools, I leapt forward in search of more. Feeling called within to be more, do more, achieve more, live more. There was always more to be had, and I wanted to experience it all.
My legs felt shaky after years of running, and trying, and feeling like all I loved simply crumbled around me, no matter how strong I felt I had wielded its foundation. I was unable to hold love upright. None of my tools, no matter how I swung them, ever created stability or safety. I layed alone in my body, days passing; hungry and spent. Not hopeless, because hope is a drug to all seekers, often masking appreciation and acceptance. When we are hoping things will change, life is easy. When we are creating that change, life can be hard.
Her purple dress cascading behind her; painted in the shadows of passing trees as she blazes by. She is tall within her spirit; strong, engulfed. That strong that swells up from the gut and holds dense as a tree in the mind’s eye as limitless empowerment. She is capable and fearless. She is willing to roll the dice, and embrace the next chapter. Her hair strays against her eyes; filtering her sight, a luminous, wild lens that reshapes the known.
And as she breathes hard, she wonders where it is hiding, and why she wants it so. Life is good. The heat of her exhale warms her forearms as she pushes her hair back. Small beads of sweat at her hairline that glimmer with a life lust. How many steps more, she wonders? She is ready.
It can be in these moments of pure awareness that appreciation, that once laid sedentary in the bottom of us, is stirred into awakening. Its very twirling dance can shine out through us, touching all those who come near. It’s powerful, and it’s a tighter woven rope that the line of hope we had clung to.
As she disjointedly walks forward, body still slowing the motion, she knows that change has caught her. It’s always been here, but it was waiting for her to reach forward to grasp it with open, raw fingers; eager and shameless. Vulnerable and safe within.
No life tools are wasted, but if they are stockpiling, they are only taking up space. Motion is life. Acceptance is the now. Gratitude is more than a journal entry. Breath can be as deep as you pull it into yourself, at any moment, including this one.
She ran to herself. And as she reached her destination, she was washed over with newness. The light laid differently, though the time the same. It was her.