Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • Spring blowing sunshine through the greenest new leaf in a sugar maple woods. This is a mesmerizing and eternal resurgence, yet new to my still born mind.

    Faint car sounds and scattered rusting litter drown swiftly here, so that I may turn inside out and feel my depths susurrated awhile in ALL; recalled to a wholesome flow across arbitrated containment and pressure regimen.

    Life is fresh and raw today. I wake up wondering--and a little afraid--what is right and ready to be done? What, who, is missing from this picture? How do I grow capacity for sustenance, care, gift, authentic creation, stable knowledge, to perform the available righteous deed? Am I wasting away or becoming well?

    I'm in new territory, disoriented from the journey, without an external agenda, and pressed for time to build foundations here, something to support me and the weight of my visions. Why weight? Where from, this burdensome way? How have I severed self from the naturally resilient web of relation, exchange, generous love and shared intention, to be here an unknown penniless pilgrim with vague plan and pangs of peril?

    I don't dare try to talk it out, not even on tape to just myself. Hating my infirm voice and raging critic at war over words that don't seem to last or lead forward. An immensity of grief does not fit in strung-together messages, prayers, outreach to no-one, nowhere. I've lost my context, and it's like a deep gut slice that wants to disgorge things that are essential to life; an old familiar life anyhow. Maybe that timeway, that me, is gone, utterly.

    So here, on the ground, I've swept the blanket of leaves aside in a wingspan circle, and gathered stones. It took a criss-cross half hour to find this flattened alcove, some of the tallest trees just surround. An old dump pile in the middle. Mattress springs and paint cans overwrought with roots and invertebrae told me this was it. A fine point for reconnection. All to rights again in a blink--if that's ever been possible or necessary.

    So there! A new axis for my maps and tether against mental vagrancy. A center, a circle, an old symbol accupunctured on earth-skin. There is much work now to make this healing take and prove; within and about me. There is pause and opening, to play as an awkward child suddenly outsized by physiological appurtenance. The world is mind...the world is right and I made it this way, I marked it so.

    or else: This place has me now. I am part of its story, its being. I daren't wander heedless or profane--no more. Inter that overload with a moment's certain dignity. Calm and Beauty here have always been the way.
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.