Dear Future Me,
The future follows me with a feverish frenzy. Against the here and now, I wish to be there to see if dreams do come true. Dirty hands and earth soaked feet, vibrancy in vegetables, fruit trees and herbs for soaps, salves and remedies to heal. The future me is moving mountains and massaged by stillness. The future me is mothered by the land, with you and the we we’ve made has a heart beat and spirit of wildflowers and eastern white pines. Future me is part of a community that stresses less about paper and prospers with trade, less reliant on google and flourishes with intuition. Future me is a forever project, a creative account, authentic and worthy to trust the path that is free. Future me, is the potency of my past, the power of here and now, to move us to the then and when.
You were a youthful stomach full of self doubt, like a frozen meal with no nutrition. You used to be a stomach full of fear, like the unknown misery of vibrant life chewed to pieces. You were a stomach full of agitation, like digestive fire without acid. Expressed deficiency of gratitude, a shortage of self love, an appetite for distress. I starved you, parched and weak until a heated hunger not for heaviness, but a calm craving for something light. Fed by plants, sunsets, forests, creek beds, and crisp morning air. Simplicity. Nourishment in music, poetry, and relationships, conversations that go under the skin, hugs, cuddles and kisses. Hydrated with meditation and movement. Mindfulness. Filled with presence. Healthy hunger is rarely sustained from cuisine of the past, and much less nutritious to anticipate future helpings. Hunger for the here and now is the decadent menu that I’ll keep choosing from. -k
butterfly image saved from pinterest- artist unknown
here and now – katie daisy
Dear First Love,
You stood like an Eastern White Pine. Steady in your Adidas shoes, baggy jeans, and dark t-shirts, perhaps weight of shadows to hide an unknown light. Quiet and mysterious has been your roots, yet a strong beat of drums and soul led sound of guitars and song with your brothers was the loud longing of a youthful purpose. Time passed in the forest, creek beds and birds to break us free from conformed concrete and powerless plastic chairs. The potency of your risk taking was sweet water from my dehydrated spirit. To stand near you was enough but to stand with you is exhilarating. You stand like an Eastern White Pine. Steady in your bare feet, shorts and coloured t-shirts, leaning into the light and planting dreams with me.
You’re infinitely swirling, spontaneous and sublime. You startle me with delight and yet sometimes you shake me with concern. Like fireflies in my mind, calm, quiet breath sets you free. And the flicker of your findings, illuminate particles of imperfect perfection. I return to nature often, discovering your wild words to deepen my imprint on this world. I return to deep waters and float to find your mystery. I return to the trees and the emerging fresh air ignites my aching desire to soar. I return to the earth, and its darkness teaches me of what fragrant patience and rose coloured courage it takes to rise. I return to the sun, and its vitality reminds me to stretch beyond my skin, to swirl, spontaneous and sublime, savoring the fireflies in my mind.
Dear Younger Self,
Your turtle shell so colourful, and so comfortably uncomfortable you were to stay within. Despite your nature is to take things slow, you were always in a hurry. Yet, stuck on the rocky edges of the shoreline, emotions dark and deep. You stayed close to the earth and she caught you when you fell. Sweetly sheltered by sisters and a childhood of neighbourhood play. You savored your time with forest air and bird song stumbling home long after dark when curfew was sunset. Journal entries and sketching saved you many times, now imprinted on your back, budding brilliance revealing itself. Your home was always with you, untidy and layers of dust, blaring thoughts and indisputable hurt. What seemed like years later, did you find life’s path pleasing. Emerging relationships that completed your circle, quests of self discovery and a curious venture to the ocean. Treasures within and treasures without, you illuminate both worlds and as you’ve traveled, you’ve seen, smelled, tasted, touched, and heard love. Your turtle ways have become my totem, and I love you.
There are days I wish to be dazzled by your delightful drowsiness. And nights I wish to be dazzled by a fireside dance, the distance sunrise is how I come to desire your sweet depths. You are a delicate dream that dissolves my dis-ease. And I am determined to defend your creative intelligence that delivers me discoveries of mystic design.
I desire more time with you. Journey’s that don’t leave my bed or my backyard. I wish to know more closely the space between your pages like an escape I could never regret. I am bound by your ability to tire, inspire and urge fire in me. Stories dive into my skin, like an orphan that longs for meaning. Poetry purifies my heart like swimming naked in the moonlight. Each title is a cover to discover, a medicine wheel that invites me to see beyond all directions.
You are a warrior and I am a worrier. In my weary weak moments your whisper wrings me out like a sweet spiraling kaleidoscope. It is in your vibrant, yet delicate wanting that I soften to your well wishes. How I love to nurture you in the depths of my reservoir. Bubbles and lather so soothing you rise to meet my heart naturally fragrant of patchouli and sage. Your strength is my surrender and my worry is not when you walk away, yet it is when you welcome me most wide-eyed and wonder-full. It is the wetland of my bathtub, the distance of marshland trails, and the waterfall of weathered tears where your wagering wild whisper wanders me back home.
Dear Morning, thank you for holding me when I awaken. My time with you is so nourishing that I often dwell in your space for longer than this world might encourage. The serenade of birds, and the splendid presence of my love resting beside me settles my roots so I may rise with a song of my own, rest affirmed for a day of divine design. The coolness of air that I walk through is a welcomed shiver as my slippered feet make way to the kettle. My curly hair wild and free thanks me for my care-less creativity to let each strand be. My hands washed by the soothing lather of my own handmade soap, do I remember that clean hands are made to get dirty. How might I dig deep into who I am and how I am who I am. Trusting this morning is a foundation, gently pushing me to rise, like a stem that reaches for the light. It’s sacred and secret the organic unfolding of our time together. It’s as if you’ve read my spine illuminating wisdom that stretches me, hydrates me, feeds me and moves me. I’ve grown to know … Read More »
With toes interwined and knees wide leading me to soleitude so wise. What burden would it be to know the weight of your experience my dear feet, of all the ways I’ve harshed and hurt you? When I am far reaching for the future I ache to be on my tippy toes yet you’re gripping my muddied steps from the past. You ask me to stay in the moment and I always wish to go. How often do I gift you a bath, a massage, a salute in honor of all that you take me through? How often do I sit, kneel or lay to be held, to leave my imprint in a way that leaves you to surrender? Is there a time you truly rest or do you dance in my dreams? My soles press together and the light between them hydrates each cell polished by the edges of every rocky pebbled path traveled. And I remember the nearing of Springs blessing. Replenishment of moist grass, deep earth and running waters over you, my wild woman feet. May we cultivate balance of effort and rest.