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Week 5

‘Trees of sleep, silent repose
Rivers of burn and fate edging towards any surface untouched
Honey sap and bent limbs like spread wings
prehistoric climb of The Will
Verdant syllables of ferns shoot up,
in combat with what little light they’re fed
lifting in vulgar narrows
The harshness is hidden in an eternal resin,
opaque ink of sound so thick it becomes mold
There I sat, woven into this world
Eating the light until its edges disappeared into what could no longer could be said’

On my way from one life to another and driving through a commanding forest of redwoods I stopped to honor them with some of my time. It occurs to me now, four years later, that what we remember most of our sensations is often what lasts longest, even if that be a method. A practice of patience in a moment for one that might be arriving.
I realize now that the stroke of my pedal comes to me as naturally as my breath, and not unlike my breath it labors as I labor, as something being born within.
When I consider it deeply, ‘belonging’ feels both like an escape and re-entry. It’s heavy with the spirit of witness. Witness to the history of use and usefulness. With watchful reverence we allow ourselves to be known and to know.

What does recognition have to do with belonging?
For those who claim the night, those interested in knowing who they are and what they may and might not be beyond, you are the ones for whom this season exists.

This is the stretch of winter days where it seems to be rare when we are blessed by the sun. I’m almost filled with a distant, impersonal anxiety when it’s shown through the clouds and I’m overwhelmed with the urge to eek everything out of its scarcity. Then I’m reminded about how rare life is, not just in its present form but at all. And that it’s true whether I act as if it is or not. Part of the joy in searching is an attempt at meaning-making. In the face of every reason not to, it’s another way of committing myself to something larger despite the real limitations of my own ability to understand its importance. And there’s a consequent softness at the center of this practice. A counterintuitive openness to the ephemeral and resistance toward the objective. David Whyte says in his poem ‘What to Remember When Waking’ “To become human is to become visible while carrying what is hidden as a gift to others.” May we all remember what gifts we hold (or that we’re holding what we don’t yet know) for those who may find them useful. - Nicky