Ancient Feeling

Why does everything have to have meaning?

Why do I look for trees that are old?

I look for trees to outlive me, to be bigger than trauma, so I can feel comforted by majesty and legacy.

These trees are small in the desert but who am I to judge?

The rocks are older than pain. They chip apart in more fragments. Surely, that should provide some solace.

Why is “should” being mentioned?

The fly’s eyes match the red rock. Lizards crawl over logs like thoughts. Drops of water fall on my elbow, my forearm. Wind pulls past my left ear.

I wonder what time sunset is. My phone has no service and the suspense is exciting.

I see a future of fainting on the trail, sleeping it off on the red earth. Losing track of time and place.

Is that why I came here? To weep? To watch the yellow pages flutter while my heart beats in my temples?

My breath is not mine, but the land’s. My body is not mine, but the land’s. My heart is not mine, but biology’s.

I pass one family and then see no one. Everyone has gone home, and I have, too.

Home is here with particles of dirt dancing and wet cheeks over dry earth. Grass twists into curls. Moss grows faded green; a green so dry it’s blackened and flaked. The moss has pores like my face. Breathing sacredness. The ground glitters with silver in some places.

The half moon is there. I don’t have anything else to say about it. It hangs. It is being a moon. Can I be a moon? I’d love to be hidden and then suddenly be seen. But I already know that feeling. It’s called love. It’s called an awakening from sleep.

I find a piece of silver and it breaks apart in my fingers like fish scales. Maybe all the silver belonged to a giant fish that swam here when there was water, before it was colonized. It’s a relief to feel something ancient because if something can live that long, I believe I can, too.

On the way back, I clutch a smooth, rounded, wooden stick that fits perfectly in my palm; a walking stick for the soul. Halfway down, a large boulder beckons me. I hug it and feel the mass of a thousand tonnes leaning into me. It holds time itself in its gravity. My cheek to the rock, smooth meets rough, skin meets ant. They climb onto me like I am an extension of the rock. Filled with the weight of the moment, I put the wooden stick into my bag and make my way down the rest of the mountain. I have made an offering and now I have one with these words.

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Hey There, Are You Going With Your Flow?

Right now I’m resisting nature. I’m resisting my desires, my inclinations, and my dreams. And for what reason? And at what cost? Too much. The only valid reason I can see why someone would forgo their dreams temporarily is to earn money and save so that doing the dream is easier, but I’m living paycheck to paycheck for something I don’t want, so what am I doing it for? Experience? Experience for what? More of the same thing? I might as well live paycheck to paycheck for something that I love.

(What do you think?)

I think I’m finally understanding what life is all about. I think I know what I need to do.

Go with the flow.

Just go with it. Or better yet, be the flow. Or even better, go with your flow.

Ok, there’s a lot going on here. What I’m saying is take the opportunities that you see and watch where you go. Listen to your gut. That’s flow for me. But there’s not just one way to do things. Everyone’s flow is different. Go to the beat of your drum. Why pretend to be someone you’re not? I feel that when I stop flowing, I get grumpy sooner or later.  Out of sync. But if I listen to my beat and really feel out my thoughts, I am a lot happier.

Follow and be numb forever.

Breathe, I say to myself, look up at the sky. For me, this is flow. Concrete may surround me (since I’m in New York City) but the sky is always there, and a tree, a leaf, or a cup of soil is not too far away. This is why I walk to Union Square this Friday evening. To see the tall trees. The greenness. To smell the peppery French lavender at the stall in the market. To touch the snap peas on offer. To bite into an apple. All these things put a sense of peace inside of me that not many other things can do. I feel like grabbing soil, getting dirt under my fingers, and seeing roots weaving through the earth. I want to feel grass under my feet and hold onto a tree for support as I climb up, up a hill to a lookout where I can survey the land. Hmm, maybe I should go hiking. Or volunteer somewhere like this.

(Do you like hiking? Gardening?)

This feeling comes from a desire to be the animal that I am. Sweat, grunt and exert my body. That’s why I like the gym. I awaken and feel the burn in my muscles. After running, I am light and mindful. I also want to love and make love. One day, I’ll even reproduce. How cool is that? We are all animals.

I keep singing.

I want to feel and not stay passive or mute. Follow and be quiet forever. Eventually, you’ll be screaming inside. Nearly every morning before work as I take the elevator to the 7th floor I start to sing. Sometimes I shriek. I tell myself that I’m warming up my voice for human interaction but I know it’s more than that. I’m releasing something. I am bringing myself into my body and feeling my breath. I always think someone will catch me one day belting out a song when the doors open but it hasn’t happened yet. I keep singing.