Body, blooming, wild
I like my body when I’m in the woods
and I forget my body. I forget that arms,
that legs, that nose. I forget that waist,
that nerve, that skin. And I aspen. I mountain.
I river. I stone. I leaf. I path. I flower.
I like when I evergreen, current and berry.
I like when I mushroom, avalanche, cliff.
And everything is yes then, and everything
new: wild iris, duff, waterfall, dew.
— Rosemary Wahtola
It feels good to be… no one. By that I mean, it feels good to be in this mystery, this in-between form. This game of limbo! This game of letting go! I’m in a state of inquiry. Who am I without all the identities? Without all the titles? The roles? The hats? The stories? The shoulds? The have-to’s?
It’s fun here. It’s experimental & creative & expansive. My inner child (i.e. inner artist) seems to be having a field day with the openness of the moment. There is breath here. Flowing, wide, spacious breath.