E and I went up to the Arboretum today for a hike. I love it there. The witch hazels are in bloom right now.
We spent a lot of time touching a huge Western Red Cedar near the Winter Garden. E sang it a song. I leaned against it and felt its strength and admired how its roots grew into the soil and held it high.
It's winter so there were lots of crunchy leaves all around. I was thinking about how the leaves decompose and then nourish the tree anew. If the tree didn't let go of the spent leaves, the soil would become depleted of nutrients.
I was wondering how I might let go of more. Sometimes I cling to patterns and habits because they're comfortable, and I'm afraid to let go -- even though I know I would be better off without them. But I feel like the environment in my life is very depleted right now. If I could let go of some old baggage, maybe the decay would nourish me eventually.
I don't really know how to put this wondering into words. I'm not sure if I'm making sense.
I understand. I heard Martin Prechtel speak once and he had a metaphor that was so perfect. To paraphrase:
'Grief is the rich compost that allows our joy to grow.'
Posted by: Taylor | January 23, 2009 at 07:43 AM