As I joyously inhale the rich scents of Spring, I smile at the magic of the pond surface, it invites me to become mesmerized by its soft masquerade. Pretending to be the cerulean blue sky, budding trees and patchwork clouds, until a duck exposes its truth.
I sit in contemplation, why do I write? I explore this topic with sincerity, for I am clear, I do not wish to be an inbox pest, or an in your face “look at me” bombardment in this technological age. Writing has been my calm in life’s storms. Words whisper on the wind, thunder in my dreams, offer safe harbor for my truths and ignite my desires. Writing is my home.
It occurred to me yesterday that there is a poignant difference between words that are meant to be READ and words that are written for one to FEEL. I put my words to page for the latter, hoping they may touch a part of you that knows and remembers. Like a firefly in a dark room, my writing arrives to kindle your heart, mirror your magnificence, and celebrate your existence. My words wish to be your friend, whether they resonate or not, it does not matter, they arrive free of expectation or judgment.
Words beckon me, they arrive in dreams, promenade on the wind, sparkle in sun rays and wink with the moon. As far back as my small human brain can go, they have called, beseeching me to hear, to feel, to know their exquisite texture, tone and truth.
A composer hears music, an artists woos colors, a singer ignites sound, a dancer feels cadence, a writer breathes words. I write because I must, whether or not anyone reads my sentences matters not to my persistent muse… As a willow will bend in the wind, the colloquy shall flow from within, arriving on any inviting surface.
“I do not write to convince you, I write to invite you…
I do not write to ignite your approval, I write to remind you of your magnificence…
I do not write to tell you what to do, I write to celebrate you…
I do not write to tell you something is wrong, I write to empower you to choose yourself…
I do not write to give you 7 Steps to a better life, I write to inform you that you are already enough…
I do not write to critique your life, I write to reflect back your perfection…
I do not write to magnify your discontent, I write so you may embrace your worthiness…
I do not write for you to read the words, I write in hopes that you may feel the words…
I do not write to get your attention, I write because I must, it is who I am…”
I sat straight up in the small wooden chair. It reminded me an old childhood school chair. The room was empty, could I actually call it a room, for there were no walls and it went on forever. The space was just vast endless blue gray light. Only me and my chair. “Where was I? Why was I here? How do I escape?” I felt weighted down in the chair, my legs unresponsive to my minds tingling panic. I encouraged myself to calm down, to breathe, to trust and let go of fear.
Like a gigantic movie screen the space in front of me lit up with a life sized scene. It was me. Dressed in my favorite blue and red jeans with flowing light blue blouse speckled with daisies. My hair was blowing in every direction, encircling my young face and my feet as always were dirty with no shoes. The six year old me stepped closer, I was transfixed by her gaze and unable to look away.
She stopped in front of me, reaching out her small little hands to stroke my cheek. Our eyes stayed locked together, a mirror of soft sky blue. In her eyes I saw such deep love, compassion, and spirited joy. They begged me to relax, to let go, to trust and be present. I felt the emotions welling up in me, a tear slid down my face as I leaned into her tiny hand, so warm, soft and gentle. The fear slid out of my body, disappearing like mist in the infinite space.
“My dear Fawn, do you remember?” she asked. Her young voice broke the still silence. Her gentle caress continued to wipe the moist tears from my face. My eyes answered her question with confusion. “What was I to remember? Had I made a promise I forgot? Then it struck me, was I dead? Had I left my physical body and now was stuck in this random space with my young self.” Her vague question had jolted my mind into high drive, which started the generator of fear again.
“Shhhhh…, it’s okay”,she soothed, continuing to touch my forehead and gray hair. I took a deep breath and relaxed back into her presence. I tried to move my lips, but they seemed paralyzed as I processed this experience. “Do you remember the dreams we used to have, the adventures we were going to go on, the books we were going to write, the places we were going to see and photograph?” a giggle filled her body as she asked the questions. Before I could answer she placed her tiny finger on my lips to stop me, softly cooing, “Watch with me“. The space lit up with a panoramic scene, the young me running barefoot down my favorite path towards our small little house tucked in the woods.
I was singing as I bounced along the trail. I looked so healthy and vibrantly alive. Free and wild in my mind, heart and soul. I completely believed that anything was possible, I could go where ever I wanted, do what I dreamed and see all the places I could imagine. The world was the frontier, full of adventures, people and new experiences.
Everything froze, washing the image away. Then suddenly there I was again, this time in my late teens. I sat under my thinking tree, a magnificent red pine that stoically held me perched above the gurgling river below. A smile crossed my face as I remembered. Warm salty tears kissed the edges of my eyes, tears of gratitude, love, joy, sadness, loss, and regret. The weight of her small hand on my shoulder kept me present, despite the urge to slip into the quiet space of a time gone by.
“Go there” she pleaded . “Feel into what we were thinking, dreaming, feeling, wanting. Remember”, her words drifted off.
I felt myself remembering, my spirited body became filled with a blend of loss, desire and ignited hope. The sobs escaped through smiling lips and undecipherable laughter. The dreams of yesterday, of the little girl and young woman permeated my very essence. In my minds eye and hearts page, I saw the books I dreamed to write, I witnessed the exploration of new places, the connection with people around the globe, learning, sharing, bridging humanity with humanity and humanity with nature.
A gasp rose up and escaped my emotionally racked body. Like a bursting comet it hit me, “I still dreamed to connect humanity, to awaken people to their unique magnificence, to bring them home to their inner state of being, awakening them to their heart and souls desires.”
It all flushed through me, the remembered awareness that nature connected us, healed and reminded us of our true inner essence.
Bridge building, that’s what I felt called to share. The bridge between human and nature, the bridge between the inner self and outer being, the bridge between all humanity, exposing our similarities no matter our walk of life or place of existence.
I looked up into the innocent wise face of my younger self, she smiled, running her velvety hand down my cheek. She leaned in, kissed my forehead and disappeared. I sat frozen, uncertain what to feel or do. My being was digesting, absorbing the intense experience. In my ear I heard her softly whisper, “Thank you for remembering, take gentle care of you and I will see you again soon.”
I sat there mesmerized by my own vibrant memories. Rekindling the wild child, the wild woman in me. Closing my eyes, I took in a tender quiet breath. As I released the cleansing air from my lungs, I blinked my tired eyes to life, uncertain in the moment what was “real” or a “dream”. I laid there, feeling into the gift from my younger self.
To be continued…
Until then, what if –
You sat in an empty room with your younger self, viewing the cinema of your youth, what would you witness, learn, remember?
What would your younger self show you, tell you, share with you?