Despite the fact that it was deep into winter, life was still abundant. Yes, the trees appeared bare to the naked eye, the sky cast a latent gray, and rain fell from its overflow. Even in the season of bareness, there was a purification. Even in the season of cleansing, there was life beneath me. On this trail leading north through lands I had never explored, there lay a tree that had been given over from where it once stood, and in its place, moss had taken refuge. Vines grew in and out of holes known only to time.
Life, even here.
I stepped over the tree and kneeled to touch the soil on the other side. The smell of the earth opening up to receive rain and the nourishment that only water can provide. That smell gave me a sense of wholeness. Both the earth and I needing what only water could give.
I made my way to a rock-bed stream that was flowing quickly due to the day's rain. I had my pen and paper ready, knowing that I would be summoned to the water once more to receive. That is how things have always been. I used to have a lot of mixed feelings about how I couldn't just sit down and let poetry flow from me; it was always a force in and through me. These words, as if from outside of me, arrived on time. Came when ready, not always when desired, but always when necessary. As I've progressed through this journey of wholeness, I've learned to recognize the call from within, but this wasn't always the case.
In that moment, I listened. I had followed the path to this moment, during this fractal of time, solely to listen and receive. When I sat down on a moss-covered rock, barefoot and grounded, I began to feel the words fall on me in the same way that the earth most likely felt the rain.
I wrote of home, a winding journey, and what it was to set aside the weight of my questions and begin living outside of the questions. See the questions, the abundance of questions I have always lived by had kept me in a place of safety. A place of logic. And yet, the very essence of being called out the way I had been time and time again with words from outside of me, defied logic. Caught between two worlds. Here I was being asked to set aside the logic and to sit in what I know, not with the mind but with the heart. That place of soul origin. To see with my eyes closed.
For a moment, the river merged with me. I couldn’t tell where the water began and I ended, or where I ended and the water began. Water flowed over me, over the rock, both of which had been rounded by waters of time, or was it life, or was it the true essence of love, God.
All of which led to a steady reflection—what I felt was separation. I had all of these parts of me with their own narratives, their own hurts, and their own needs. I functioned so well from these aspects of myself. Knowing which ones would drink in acceptance and which would withstand rejection—all from an outside perspective. I lived under the influence of others. Because it is so simple, it is celebrated in many communities—to live disconnected from oneself as long as one acts and appears good, holy. But the question that came and was embedded within me that day, which I could not answer by logic but only through embodiment, was this:
Can we truly walk in holiness if we don’t walk in wholeness?
More to come. Thank you for being on this journey with me.
Warmly,
Lillie
What depth and beauty your words portray. It is beyond hard to confess that I have lived decades disconnected from self, having mis-applied the teachings of Jesus for so many years. What a relief to know that He did not want us to drag our knees in false humility constantly identifying ourselves by our failings or worse off denying a self even exists. He calls his children royalty, yet I decided it was more humble to exalt my sins. It is possible walk in the reality of my heavenly DNA and exalt the Risen King who came to atone, rescue, and restore us to our original design.