Change is dangerous. And uncomfortable. And so is passion. I feel the earth in my hands, the wet , warm, chocolate-colored dirt with its rich and musky scents and something in me stirs. The world around me freezes and time is suspended in the vapors that rise to meet my skin. The sun above me smiles down and kisses, softly, my pink, warmed cheeks, proud of the caramel color its borne upon my face over the last month.
It speaks to me, this earth. From the whisper of eternity through birch wood branches to the solidity of the nearby boulder. It calls to me in a language I've always known within me but am unable to conceptualize.
I've always been a steady one, at least I like to fancy myself that, never one to rock the boat in a way that alienates people. I only push to the brink of thought and reflection and then still long enough to allow movement, leaps of faith, from those in the boat.
It doesn't have to be "radical" for it itself is radical by nature. I don't want to trumpet these crazy things, I want to live them. Simply. I want to take one step at a time, day by day, inviting people into the experiences, thoughts and adventures that are and have altered my life, forevermore. I don't want to be overwhelmed with radical language and huge movements..
I finally have language for what's been going on inside of me. I'm currently put off by the trumpeting of these movements. I've seen it and it occurs to me that perhaps it's not about broadcasting, it's a labor of love. It's bringing people into community, into the garden, alongside me, dipping their hands in the dirt and allowing the texture to speak for itself.
It feels like oil and water inside of me, I slide across the surface of this smooth and beautiful existence and all I want is to go deeper, I want to go deeper, I'm deeper now and I just want deeper. I'm lost in it now and I just want deeper. I want to touch the flame that is deep within me I want to understand the language of love the language of fire, I want to breathe the flame that burns all brighter.