There are times in life when I forget where I came from. Not where I was born or the houses I grew up in, but the place I feel at a deeply visceral level...the place that is my spirit. I know that I have forgotten when things begin to flatten out, time becomes merely linear, thought takes on a mundane quality completely lacking in transcendence.
The times when my mind takes on a hyper-vigilance, when I worry whether my opinion matters to others or second-guess everything I say...I know I have forgotten. Those are the times I go outside and feel the depth of the earth beneath my feet.
When I find myself becoming too hung up on details or reaching toward some impossible perfection, I know I have forgotten. So I go outside and look at the random, jumbled beauty of nature.
When I become filled with regrets, self-recriminations or self-loathing I step into the soothing balm of sunlight and listen to soft-spoken words within a breeze, because again...I have forgotten.
Those are the times I forget that place of beginning...and so I step back to the source, the wisdom, the Mother. I remember the knowledge held within the texture of tree trunk, the joy that flows in patterns of dancing sunlight, the grace of a turning leaf, the nurturing touch of rain and the wide open possibilities of morning sky.
I step into the Being place of nature and I remember
where I came from.
by sometime soon 
have a great evening dearheart 
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