Three Borrowed Mothers

Running Spring was a girl that the world was drawn to. She was beautiful, strong, and loving--a natural caretaker of the young ones--but she also craved the wildness of a sea outside her tribal boundaries. Running Spring was a force that turned heads and hearts and souls and led them fearlessly into deeper waters than they had ever ventured. There, they loved. They healed. They learned. They expanded. They followed. Running Spring unknowingly offered the gifts of protection and liberation to those around her. Who would give these gifts back to Running Spring now that she so desperately needed them?

Running Spring had painful secrets. She cried on the inside but covered it up with a fierce smile and good deeds. Almost nobody could see Running Spring’s lacerations caused by The One Who Steals Your Insides. The only one that could hear Running Spring’s tears and see Running Spring’s pain was her mother, Watching Tiger. Watching Tiger was a fierce protector and provider for her tribe with many souls relying on her for physical, emotional, and spiritual nourishment. As Watching Tiger heard the silent cries of her eldest daughter become more desperate, she knew she would have to take mindful and immediate measures to protect Running Spring from The One Who Steals Your Insides and tend to the oozing interior wounds that had already been inflicted upon her. Watching Tiger would not be able to do these things alone.

Watching Tiger decided that she must be the one to protect her daughter, Running Spring. As Watching Tiger planned to set out in the night to hunt down and slay The One Who Steals Your Insides, she borrowed three other mothers to tend to the interior lacerations that Running Spring was suffering from. Each of the borrowed mothers would lovingly work to heal Running Spring, one at a time.

Watching Tiger fought back tears of maternal sorrow as the borrowed mothers gently cared for Running Spring, a job Watching Tiger wished she could also do. She replaced her tears of sorrow with breaths of wisdom and protection as she set out on the seven-day hunt for The One Who Steals Your Insides. She knew that protection was pivotal to Running Spring’s healing and continued vitality amongst the tribe.

The first borrowed mother, Energy Mover, prayed over Running Spring with natural potions and ancient chants. Energy Mover commanded all that was negative to leave the room of Running Spring, making space to invite in all that was peaceful and positive. Energy mover created a safe and loving dwelling place for Running Spring to heal in.

The second borrowed mother, Soul Sunshine, summoned Running Spring to the foot of the altar. Running Spring moved forward with trust and intention. Soul Sunshine energetically led Running Spring into the conversations of healing and power with fellow goddess spirits abroad. Running Spring declared with the goddesses that she has power over her own destiny and nobody can take from her that which she doesn’t want to give, from here on out.

The third borrowed mother, Shouting Witch Star, hovered over Running Spring and excavated truths that even Running Spring did not know about herself. She gave celestial and earthly roadmaps to Running Spring that would provide stability and happiness moving forward. Running Spring felt a weight lift from her chest and shoulders and the pain of her wounds could barely be felt. Shouting Witch Star sent invisible goddess warriors with Running Spring as she journeyed home, to ensure good company and safe travels.  

While Running Spring was being lovingly tended to by the three borrowed mothers, Watching Tiger sniffed out The One Who Steals Your Insides. He sat protected behind gates of gold and an army of another dimension. But none of that was any match for Watching Tiger. Her pounce was silent. Her roar was loud. Her claws were sharp. Her teeth were purposeful. There was not a soldier or gate or force that could hold back the fierce protection Watching Tiger had for her eldest daughter, Running Spring. The One Who Steals Your Insides sat unguarded in fear as Watching Tiger approached him with confident silence. He apologized for the lacerations he had inflicted on Running Spring. She ignored and moved forward. He begged for mercy. She ignored and moved forward. He made promises of a life changed and priorities renewed. She ignored and moved forward. The One Who Steals Your Insides howled in desperation and took flight as a last attempt to save himself. Watching Tiger grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him back to her furious red eyes with a warning: “Be gone, forever. And if even your thoughts ever drift towards the area of my tribe again, you will be swallowed by the painful mouth of justice.”

As Watching Tiger journeyed back to her homeland and into the camp, she caught a glimpse of the sparkling Running Spring. As her birth mother, Watching Tiger could still see the scars that Running Spring housed inside, but they were no longer oozing. Running Spring was back out in the center of her community, leading dances and kissing the moon. The three borrowed mothers sat off to the side, lovingly admiring the courage of Running Spring by the light of the fire. Watching Tiger’s heart was full and her tribe was safe.

Foliage of Truth: The Story of The Pretty Green Tree

Foliage of Truth: The Story of The Pretty Green Tree

Every time you don’t follow your inner guidance, you feel a loss of energy, loss of power, a sense of spiritual deadness.  –Shakti Gawain

The Pretty Green Tree stood tall amongst the others in the well-manicured park of Central City. People strolled along the paths, read on benches, picnicked under trees, and watched their children run with abandon through the playground. As the sun would disappear each evening and the moon would take the throne of the sky, people headed back home to their domestic routines, leaving the park to rest from the day’s activities. Maintenance workers made a pass through the park, cleaning up the disposable traces of human consumption and residence that had been left behind.

While the other trees and their winged inhabitants drifted off to sleep, excited for the next day of sunlight and human admiration, The Pretty Green Tree stayed awake to enjoy the stillness and brisk air the nighttime freely offered. She bathed in the moonlight and dreamt of running streams and rooting down in a more peaceful existence.

The morning came and The Pretty Green Tree dutifully spread her branches for the day’s visitors to take refuge under. She appreciated the lives and energy of the humans. She learned many secrets and truths as one of their solar protectors. The Pretty Green Tree also enjoyed her fellow rooted inhabitants and admired the amount of pride they took as members of Central City’s busiest park.

But she wasn’t like the rest of them. The Pretty Green Tree wanted something different: running water, chirping critters, mossy soil, quiet days. These were the dreams of The Pretty Green Tree.

The foliage world was taught from a young age that wherever you rooted down at the beginning of your life was the home of your intended purpose. It would be physically and spiritually dangerous to do anything else. Many stories of Fallen Trees were passed from one generation to another, a way to communicate to the younger foliage generations the importance of accepting their fate place from a young age and to stay put. The Pretty Green Tree wondered if these stories had any merit or if they were merely folklore. So, she continued to dream.

It was a clear night, stars proudly dancing as far as the eye could see; the dreams of The Pretty Green Tree became too full and alive to keep her still. With a will that was almost not her own, The Pretty Green Tree began to loosen herself from the park’s soil, root by root. The pain seemed irrelevant. She gave her instilled fear of dehydrated death no voice. The Pretty Green Tree moved as if by something inside her and she knew The Journey was taking her by the branch to lead her to the dreamland.

As her final root unlodged from the very earth that held and nursed her for twelve years, a wave of peace and possibilities tickled every leaf adorning The Pretty Green Tree. The Journey had not promised that the road to Running Water would be easy to travel, but it did promise to hold her branch and guide her. Careful not to wake the foliage community, The Journey led The Pretty Green Tree out of the park while the stars applauded and danced with excitement above them. They were on their way.

For three days and three nights, The Pretty Green Tree giggled with anticipation as The Journey revealed small adventures.  New sites, new sounds, and new smells were all vibrant company. By day four, The Pretty Green Tree felt quite thirsty. The Journey nudged her along and slowed down to match her pace. Day five brought a sense of instability; The Pretty Green Tree desired to temporarily root down into the next patch of dirt she came across. The Journey discouraged her from attatching her roots until they reached Running Water. They continued on.

Day six was a blur, parchment seeming to cover the dreams with a veil. Flashbacks to the stories of Fallen Trees she had heard as a child ran through her foggy mind. She felt disheartened as her brilliant green foliage faded and began to drop. Lifting each root to get another step ahead felt as if lifting a tree trunk itself. She teetered. She tottered. The Journey caught and supported her for hours at a time without wavering. There was no refuge from the sun and The Pretty Green Tree felt herself drying up. No source of nutrition was available to her other than the faithful companionship The Journey had to offer.

Then things went black.

On the morning of day seven, The Pretty Green Tree awoke to the sound of trickling water. She lay on her side trying to make sense of the cool earth below her. She slowly opened her eyes, expecting to see The Journey ready to give her the daily guidance she had come to seek comfort in. Instead, she saw a glorious stream of swaying water that seemed to be performing a choreographed piece of perfection. Her eyes darted around, wanting to share the moment with someone, but The Journey was nowhere to be found. Its job was done: she had arrived. Her roots reached to the edge of the water, lapping up nourishment like an abandoned dog that had finally made its way out of a dreadful desert. The Pretty Green Tree laid in the spot where she had collapsed the night before, admiring the power The Journey had to have gotten her there. She would forever feel indebted to The Journey, although it would never expect anything in return.

The Pretty Green Tree began to reflect on the Foliage Folklore she had learned in her younger years, which she now saw in a different light. As her trunk hugged the mossy earth and cool gusts of wind played with her leaves, The Pretty Green Tree said to herself, “If this is what it feels like to be a Fallen Tree, may I lie here forever.”

driving & appreciating

November 29, 2015

It was not long ago that I felt trapped.

And to think about the future felt hopeless To my authentic self

I'm so grateful that I remembered that I always have a choice

And a voice, for a mind can most certainly be changed

A new vision, or at least the space for a future I can be proud of.

My decision was made. A new card played. A shackled present slayed like a single candle in the wind.

I stepped out of obligation and was rewarded love. With life.

A future of prolific possibilities, excess laughter, and orgasmic adventure patiently awaits my fashionably late arrival to the party.

While I Impatiently Drive towards it. But am maddened by the traffic on this route.

Oh what a joy it is to feel impatiently alive. No longer held back. No compromise even needed.

I have found life. I have found love. One of the same spiritual blood.

Hope and promise lay heavily over me, A Woolen blanket in the midst of the bone chilling wind.

Deep breaths are limitless. My body stretches from coast to coast.

Love and life. Autumn leaves. Cameras and toast.

hiking & thinking

September 23, 2015.

Today i sit in the shadows of freedom. A confusing darkness and weight.

The space for what i want to become has been granted. And it swallos me up. Fogs my vision. Taints my well.

Is there a comfortable crevice in between smother and vast, in which my fire could last?

Hell if i know. I may be too restless to ever find out.

A nester's blood with gypsy boots that cling to my soles.