Falling from Groundwater

Leaves fall despite the absence of wind to make a pile of gold. Evergreen shrubs become royalty. I watch leaves letting go every day and, as cliché as it sounds, this scene triggers in me a personal, human dance of letting go. Past, future and present all play a role in assimilating the times I didn't let go quite enough or I let go too much. At times I did nothing and yet at others, I felt myself on the precipice wanting with every fiber of being to let go; to jump; to die in that moment and become something new.

I think some awaken early to whom they are and to whom they will manifest most beautifully as in the world. For some, the narrative has been a bit scripted, force fed, or demanded. The freedom to even imagine one’s true self can be terrifying or even impossible. This results in a thousand little deaths. Scrolled up in the barn jacket pocket of our corpse is a note which explains the relief of giving up.

This is not the same as letting go.

There is no taking or giving of life with letting go. There is only love. There is no possession or ownership, no over-thinking or delay. And you must fall, giving in to what it feels like to be both fully present in your decision and powerless in the results.

Talking with other women, I am realizing how our existence in this world has largely engendered an emphasis on gravity – an outside force causing us to either stay inert or fall too swiftly, even unto death. Not having full agency can often parade as consent, which complicates the awakening process.

What does it mean to awaken unto the true self – the goddess – the queen? Perhaps one way is to give oneself permission to imagine any possibility, any outcome, any circumstance or way of living . . . and see what kind of images burst forth from the beautifully pure groundwater of your roots.

Maybe for me, that is what this writing is for.