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Her hair was as waves of pure earth, softly reflecting the light of the sun; each strand moving freely in an ocean born breeze, a compliment to her stillness. With eyes of river waters, in glossy serenity, her aura seeped into the summer air between us. And in that moment, in that fraction of time, her smile was in every God given feature, and I knew I was home.
I imagine each dancing leaf as one from a favourite book, each one with a story of nature, with its own lyrics of the wind and memories of the birds. Each one is art, a bold green with infinite nuance for the eye who dwells in awe and love. This tree, this mighty feat of nature, has taken so many years to grow, all of those tiny moments morphing imperceptibly into the present. Yet that's the thing about growth, it is only when we compare with a sense of the months and years past that we see such amazing changes.
In that time before people were writers, when the spoken word was the way of the world, we were the wise women. They would come to us with a choice, faces of puzzlement and fear, and we would ease it. They would ask, "Which?" We would find the way of the great spirit, the one who is love, heal their worried soul and they would be happy once more. Then came the fear of the paranoid ones, and "Which?" became "Witch!" We always were your friends, we who could use simple words to heal and feel the goodness of God giving subtle directions, answering prayers in clues for eyes of the soulful. So please come again, yet feel that you say, "Which?" and we will help the best we are able.
A fresh start is the weirdest thing, as if everything that happened to this point in time, was a prequel to what comes next. It feels as if that book closed and a new one opened, appearing one word after the other, yet slowly, as if they have a calmness the first volume never possessed. And they come as a natural music, as drops of rain upon a spreading leaf, chaotic and rhythmic all at once. And as these words form, in deepest blue dancing over a white page, they are as dance steps, my own motions, deliberate and intuitive, yet also guided by the ever present music. And this is the way of everything, the chaos, the synchrony, the guidance... and everything with a sprinkle of destiny. So long as I try my best, I am always where I am supposed to be, and there's a serenity in that, to always be a part of the best story I am able to write, to be a child of this universe, weaved into the fabric of creation.
From the night comes a sound as if thunder could be stretched. So I tilt my head upward, seeking lights that flash, the red and white in the deepest of blue skies. For a moment I am still, feeling the cool air, breathing in a steady rhythm. Then there they are, those crazy passing stars, flying high, ever onward.
After every mountain peak there's another, yet the climbing is everything. With each stretch I reach higher; with each stride I'm stronger, I keep gaining a little more to carry me through the times of hardship. I feel the winter wind as a coldness to teach me to stay warm inside. I feel sharp rocks as a whisper to walk lightly. Those times the clouds shower me with their icy love, I let it remind me of the tears I prevent by walking these ways... and it makes me move all the faster. That's why I win, 'cause I learn from what's hard and sprint when the weather is fair. So if you wanna walk with me, that would be so sweet, just watch me and learn. One day you'll be the master teaching and I'll be in my rocking chair on some sunny porch. So, are you coming or what?
I read that book, the one by Rutger Bregman about utopia. He says that advertising executives cost us seven times more than their salaries in dealing with the effects of stress, pollution, debt and overconsumption. So is that what we have, an economy based in disease and sickness? No different from the economies of war? He says that the litter picker's salary benefits the economy twelve times over in health and sustainability. Less efficiency in hospitals and schools means more time is spent with each patient and child - that's a great thing. The care a de-stressed parent can give to their child pays us back in lower health care use and higher educational outcomes. Apparently GDP is a skewed number that takes no account of all the things that make living worthwhile. So let's be brave enough to eradicate poverty and put the savings into things that improve life for everyone. Let's go for utopia, save our planet and each other.
On the days of fearful headlines, when there was doom and gloom right next to pictures of perfect cakes and elicit gossip, everyone in the supermarket looked as if they were under a grey cloud. There were few smiles, less emotional generosity to children, more casual fights between the couples as they walked the chilled aisles.
On the days of good news, of anything to celebrate, it was different and the whoever the folks were that wandered about, the effect was the same... more smiles, more casual caring and emotional attentiveness to others. It was as if a monster that had lurked had gone away and instead a fairy had come to grant them an inner rainbow.
I would wonder if those inch high words of fear or love, coming and going as some chaotic pendulum might, were giving a sort of pseudo-bipolar to us all. I saw those strongly emotive words hitting our brains, stimulating regions that cause hormones to be produced, changing our moods and altering our brains without the bother of a doctor's prescription, consent or anything so mundane as all that.
Mankind, kind man, you have one task in this era - save the Earth and each other. Let your love show in your work, your greatness shine through humility and let gratitude bring forbearance for the hardships you must face. The loved and loving creations of this world are more than your species, yet as the dominant life you carry the responsibility. One focus, one task, save Earth... and let it bond you as brother and sister across seas and land so that into the millennia to come you are as kin.
The tree had the most beautiful skin, every brown from deep chestnut to rich mahogany. It changed too, as the day matured, as the sun came to strength, illuminating the details that made it such art. Some say they love nature, I guess they do, but I'm in love with nature and that's another thing all together.
Write with the emotion that burns, the joys that sing and the tears you never cried because you weren't sure anyone would care. Write with your own words because they are yours, only the ones that feel right in your mouth. Because we all need to hear you, and you do too. How else can you discover who you are? So I don't care about spelling or grammar or verbs or adjectives... all I wanna know is, "Are you okay?" I need to be sure that you can still feel your soul, that you care so much about this world and others it hurts that others suffer. I need to be sure that you feel the duty to use your talents to fix this world, because this is our home, not some hotel, so don't check out, stay awake, stay right here with those who care so much about you that we hurt if you do. That's love. You got it as a birth right so hold on. Just write, keep writing and be as bold as you dare. Let it out, let it go, then let it be.