On a walk I noticed this tree and,

A morning walk in franklin park

Humans are like this tree and this tree is like life. Look to the branches. What do you see when you trace them? …Full of bumps and ugly twists, spots of beauty if that’s how you define it, dark holes and light bark, unpredictable twisty messiness, unfurling out into our own expansion when we simply follow the light and feel our roots. May we remember that we don’t have to be anything else, standing without apology like this tree.

What reflection?

I’ve been so scared… because I had forgotten what it felt like to care. The numbness of not knowing, not remembering, though anemic, felt safer than to try and understand it again.

Ironically, this wasn’t as much for others… as it was for the person I hadn’t heard from in the longest. My self.

We claim to be conscious beings… then why are we so linear?

How is it human nature is so quick to want a hard line for things? To identify them as one, then place them into a box neatly, not to be touched, moved, re-colored, hit, or added to? I find myself spending so much time, by default, shoving things into a definition of what I have seen them mean to be… but then, I spend more time hearing this deeper voice that has spun up from tension in the act… it asks the question, why are we trying to say this is the ONLY truth? Can not more than one exist at the same time?