Chapter 2
What if instead of a book,
I was a library.
Instead of categories of literature,
I was elements of nature.
We could begin by wandering into the section of Wild Growth.
When your first step hits the floor,
you are met with a soft forgiving carpet of green moss.
Your first breath,
is filled with gentle humidity.
And your eyes are caught by the streams of light that filter through the tree tops and land on
the forest floor.
Here
you will find the years and years of self-destruction.
The past has been mended by using its debris as soil for the next version of me.
Some parts have grown tall, continuously persisting toward the light.
While other trees have fallen,
hard,
but didn’t make a sound.
Because no one was there to listen.
But,
there’s magic here.
A fallen tree provides the opportunity of life, for others.
It’s called a nursery log.
It lies there slowly decomposing while new paradigms can spring from the wisdom, of that very
fallen tree.
The light can now reach and support this new growth because the canopy
is no longer.
They are given permission to expand tall, beyond,
their previous expectations.
Although self-destruction has torn some of my forest down
It has also provided the opportunity for rebirth.
There is mystery here,
and brilliance.
There is death,
and life.
As you stroll to the end of this section you feel the chill of a cold front caress your cheek.
A cold that has your curious,
but can bite if you’re not prepared.
The Tundra Section.
The ground shifts from lush to crust beneath us.
You can feel the frozen Earth meet and support you.
When you look around,
all is still.
Almost
as if you are inside of a painting.
The groves of Aspens that surround you are leafless and draped in a fresh coat of snow.
You cannot hear the chipmunks racing around the trees.
Or bugs whizzing by.
Moose in the forest move swiftly and silently, completely
undetected.
Leaving deep tracks
in the snow.
As we pause,
all falls silent.
Time is frozen.
All problems cease to exist.
You are suspended here-
with me.
As you lift your gaze, you see distant peaks.
Still and daunting.
No one should attempt their exploration without someone who knows
how to navigate.
These mountains tower tall all year, but when the snow falls,
there is a different presence.
One may think that the hills are sleeping, but they are alive,
holding strong to support each storm and flake.
Every cycle that rips through and paints the forest white a new,
also adds weight.
Also adds technicality.
Also creates majesty.
Also,
fuels
the stoke.
This is the place where I step into my bindings and become one with the slope.
This is the place where joy is shaken free in my being and erupts through my vocal chords.
Sometimes sounds like a, “yyyewwww!”
This is the place where my soul comes to my surface.
This is the place in nature that can bring me closest to an orgasm.
When I lean in and turn, a wave of snow lifts and fluffs against my shins.
I want more.
I find a deep spot and turn harder, the snow lifts and pushes into my hips.
I glide through the powder
and flakes fly everywhere.
My braid and hair that has escaped, is coated in frost.
I have become one with this element.
My child-self lives here.
I live here.
I thrive here.
A warm beam of light thriving in a frozen place.
I turn to you and we lift our goggles up,
the warm sun kisses our faces.
It’s so bright we have to close our eyes
for just a moment.
Once we come back into focus we see-
see the same hills, but now-
they are bare.
Ahh.
It looks like we have arrived in
the section of Grief.
The section that I live in once a year,
the one that follows the Tundra.
When the magic has melted and the Earth begins to unthaw.
When there is no regrowth yet, but only the impact of winter.
This section
never
feels easy.
It’s the part where-
I must practice faith and trust. The part where-
gratitude hurts. The part where-
No matter how hard I try to stay positive, I ache. The part where-
I’m in purgatory between stoke and a brown place. The part where-
I long for the mountains to hold me like they do the snow. The part where-
I want something to fill all of my cracks and crevasses and disguise it as beauty. The part where-
I crave the peace,
of a winter wonderland.
This section has me grieving the past and overly trying to be hopeful for the near future.
The ground is soft
and muddy around us
and it feels like a mess.
I know that there will be beautiful growth after this, but it feels so hard, to-
be with. To-
hold faith. To-
remind myself that there is still beauty around me. This-
feels like a dark place.
Although the days are beginning to get longer,
my longing gets longer.
I don’t want to be in this section.
It feels like a waste of time.
It feels uncomfortable.
It feels like a test and demand of my patience and hope.
I grab your hand and take us out, because
I, I can’t take it anymore.
Some call it spring
but nothing about it,
feels springy to me.
We walk into a white space and sit down.
I breathe.
You breathe.
Relief.
The floor beneath us is fluffy.
You look down and feel it with your hand then quickly notice that it is soft like a fresh mallow
straight out the bag.
I tell you to look up and you see,
that we are sitting in the clouds.
This is the Dream section.
Anything is possible here.
This is where I can brew up a desire AND a blueprint of how to bring it to fruition.
This where I can imagine the taste of Girl Scout cookies in my mouth, without eating one.
This is the place I go to when you and I are not together,
but want to be.
From here,
I can-
plan trips, I can-
Cross your eyes and dot your T’s, I can-
Feel your hand on my cheek, I can-
Bring us to the summit of Half Dome so we feel like we are on top of the world, without even
lifting a finger. I can-
Put us on a boat, floating freely in the center of a glacier melt lake. I can-
Rehearse difficult conversations with people so that when I’m in the moment
it doesn’t feel as fucking heart twisting and stomach dropping. I can-
Come to this place when I want to recall a happy memory of when I was a state champion kid
soccer player. I can-
Come to this place when I’m sitting on my therapist’s couch and she asks me “what did that
remind you of?”
I can
teleport to the Dream section in a matter of moments, on purpose-
or on accident.
I like it here.
I can be among the clouds, floating with the light.
That lifts me up.
While other days,
I might get teleported up here and there’s a thunderstorm happening where I’m,
the lightening rod.
The Dream section is a blessing and a curse.
I forgot about this place for many years as society rung it out of my mind like a wet towel.
When they gave me a script and plan of what I was supposed to do
Where I was supposed to live
Who I was supposed to be with.
They never asked me, or told me for that matter-
Who I was supposed to be.
I was on the expressway to grow up, get a career, a picket fence, and a 401k.
No one asked me what I wanted.
They only told me to choose my life-long-career at the age of 17.
At 21 I found out I could not only ask myself what I wanted, but could also make the decision
and create my own path.
The Dream section was tugging on my pant leg politely trying to get my attention like a little kid
for years,
But I was waving it off saying, “hold on honey, I’m in the middle of something.”
Then I realized it was me tugging on my pant leg.
When I came to that, the Dream section sprang back to life after a decade of patient slumber.
I breathe.
As I gaze across the abundant and tell you that I’m grateful and honored to be here.
I say that a lot.
That I’m honored.
And that I’m grateful.
Some people lose their Dream section at 10 and never get it back.
Not me, and not you,
if you want.
I take your hand
like Aladdin does Jasmine on the edge of her balcony and ask,
“Do you trust me?”
With a head tilt and look of skepticism you say, “yes?”
“Then jump,” I reply, I let go of your hand and leap off of the cloud and begin to soar down
below.
You jump.
Falling for only a few moments, we hit the surface and plunge into a warm, turquoise blue body of water.
We’ve made it to the Lagoon section.
We surface without effort.
Smiles across our faces like we just went down water slides as kids at WaterCountry.
I ask you to follow me and say, “Just keep breathing.”
I disappear under the surface.
Apparently in my library I make the rules…like breathing underwater…
On the plaque outside of this library
it speaks of my accomplishments and hobbies.
I might seem like a total badass
A fearless risk-taker
An adventure enthusiast
But, there’s a reason why the plaque is just a summary.
You must go inside and explore each section to understand me-
fully.
In this section, I get to show you my depths.
My trenches.
My under-water caves.
There is a lot beneath the surface that people don’t understand from the shore.
Just like the ocean, there are parts of me that I have yet to discover.
This tunnel over here is..the tunnel of abandonment.
You see,
I don’t do the phrase, “I promise”.
It’s hollow to me.
It’s empty.
Friends, lovers, family, have promised me the number of water molecules there are in this
lagoon.
Then they leave
they peace out.
they come and go as quick as a trick-or-treater on the 31st
this cave has slowly been eroded over time.
My world quakes as they walk away
and my heart breaks when their actions disarm their words.
It’s dark in here.
I swim away.
You follow close behind.
This spot over here looks like the nest of a fish.
Low and shallow
scooped out from the earth.
This is where the pieces of my shattered heart lay to rest, and-
slowly,
overtime,
renew and bring themselves back to me
on the surface.
Some pieces have been down here for a long time
intentionally
not getting any attention.
While other times,
I bring myself down here to sit in it.
To sit in and be with
the pain.
To ask it what it needs.
To listen to its story and perspective.
To warrant the time and space for the healing that the pieces need…
and deserve.
I can’t gather and bring the pieces to the surface with me and pretend that they are
fine..because they’re not.
I have tried to carry them and pretend..I mean everyone else does it.
But I’m not “fake it till you make it guy.”
I’m real which sometimes means raw which sometimes means hard, when really
I’m soft.
When my heart is freshly broken, the new sliver may have not dislodged yet which means that I
am carrying it around, and that-
You can see on my face and feel in my aura.
But the pieces that are old pain, I don’t forcefully carry around because
they are too dark, too heavy, and too teary.
I’d rather be patient, give them the context, and live the process.
I look at you
Your head is hanging.
You feel heavy for me.
You feel confused as to why someone could possibly hurt someone with such a big, caring
heart.
Maybe they do because it’s a bigger target.
All I know, is that I’m not going to stop loving as big and as deep as I do because of sorrow.
Because of risk
Or because there is a place in my depths scooped out from the Earth made specially for the
broken pieces.
Each time I feel pain, grants me the opportunity to love greater,
the next time around.
We cannot have highs without the lows.
Suddenly we begin to rise to the surface
The water is changing to light green in color and filling with salt.
Perfect timing.
We float to the seam where the water meets the air.
With a soft smile, I look around, and then at you.
Your eyes are wide and in disbelief.
The sun is bright,
there are waterfalls crawling down cliffs,
otters playing in the sea lettuce.
Whales breech in the distance while the white sand on the beach makes your breath catch.
With deep feelings, we can also have extraordinary joys.
We rose from the depths and have arrived in the Joy section.
The sun shines on the water causing it to quiver and sparkle.
Luscious green plant life climbs the distant cliffs
I feel like I’m on the mystic island of Neverland, but this time
we are the mermaids.
You like it here.
You’re starting to get it.
I see it clicking in your eyes.
You realize that one cannot have light without darkness and that is why I have so much joy.
It’s from the depths of my being that the light is able to pour out of me.
We float and bask in the sun.
We are feeling so loved, giddy, and relaxed that we close our eyes and float but we hold hands
like the sea otters do so we don’t drift apart while we rest on the surface.
I say your name
You snap back to the moment,
to find us sitting on the grass in a park with my fingers pressed against a page in my notebook on a hand drawn diagram of the sections of myself.
There is
a fallen tree
a snowflake
a sprout
a cloud
a fish
and an otter.
I smile.
Welcome back, I say,
it’s nice to meet you too.