a moment to be still, and just like that,
something in me settles, softens,
makes space for imperfection.
The harsh voice of judgement
drops to a whisper and
I remember again
that life isn’t a relay race,
that we will all cross the finish line,
that waking up to life
is what we were born for.
As many times as I forget,
catch myself charging forward
without even knowing where I’m going,
that many times I can make the choice
to stop, to breathe, and be,
and walk slowly into the mystery. — Danna Faulds, Walk Slowly
The trees before you and the bushes beside you are not lost.
Wherever you are is a place called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you,
If you leave it you may come back again saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.— David Wagoner