I’ve been sitting with a poem – of sorts – that has gotten nowhere.

I never got to say thank you
    
    the fallen tree deep in the woods that held me safe and sturdy
    brooks that flowed the tears I wouldn’t allow, babbling rhythms to soothe my soul
    rays of sunshine peeking through the leaves, warming me with hope
 
    the dependable and unwavering ballet barre
    predictable and distracting plies, tendus, and ronde jambes
    a sense of worth in the stage’s applause
 
    books that carried me to other worlds
    the friendship of journals 
    a career that taught me I could
 
    and myself, for holding on to some sliver of possibility that life doesn’t happen 
        between four walls on one bed of pastel flowers 

I didn’t say I was happy with it. Maybe more will come of it later.

I share it, though, because I keep returning to this notion of nature’s healing power and the importance this holds in my life. In all our lives.

Since last November, I’ve been practicing a combination of satya movements (somatic based) and meditation with Erin Larsen. After years of talk therapy, I felt ready to finally explore the combined mind, body, and soul healing of this therapeutic practice. I cry regularly, and I have learned that my body holds more tension and trauma than I ever allowed myself to acknowledge. (“Lazy woman’s yoga” my ass!) Nonetheless, it’s a beautiful, healing, and opening practice that I am grateful Erin shares with the world.

Today, as we often have, we settled into a meditation with some grounding and guiding questions:

               Who am I?

                              What do I want?

                                             How can I serve?

Anyone who knows even one piece of what is going on in my life right now can imagine the wave this brought on for me. A career shift, facing tough decisions and setting boundaries in lifelong relationships, and generally figuring out what it means to be a 34-year-old woman fiercely embracing Mary Oliver’s query, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

Despite all this, the wave didn’t knock me.

Prior to the questions, Erin had given me the imagery of a rock to ground me. Embody the rock. Ground. Inhale cleansing rains to wash over you.

It stuck. Maybe it influenced the answers that followed, but when she asked, “Who am I?” all that came to mind was, A girl on a rock. Not the woman – now, but the girl – then. The same girl held by the fallen tree, who let rays of sunshine heal her and give her hope. As strong and resilient and as joyful and open as her inherent light the day the universe made her.

“What do I want to do?” Sit on the rock. I almost laughed at the simplicity. Here I am in the midst of what I have dubbed a monumental shift in my life – in seemingly every manner possible, and my only answer to “What do I want to do?” is, Sit on the rock. “Don’t judge it,” Erin’s voice floated to me, “just observe it, like watching people in the airport.

               Inhale.

                              Exhale.

                                             Inhale.

                                                            Exhale.

“How can I serve?”

               Inhale.

                              Exhale.

                                             Inhale.

                                                            Exhale.

Invite others to the rock.

Invite others to the rock.

I came home to process. Meditate and notice some more. Ground and journal so that when the rising shifts and waves of the months ahead crash around me, I can center back to this place of groundedness and truth.

Cry. Be the rock. Accept you exactly as you are. Honor all that has brought you here and how it has left you. There has been purpose there too. But now, sit on the rock. Stay a while. Soak in the sun’s rays. Let the rains wash over you. Admire the forest’s lush scenery and observe the shifts of seasons, eventually giving way to death and renewal. Be the rock. Breathe it. Invite others to join you. Maintain balance and return here when you lose it.

You are exactly where you need to be.

This is what matters.

lokah
samastah
sukhino
bhavantu

Photo by Vasilia S.