Being This

I wrote this poem last winter, in the quiet days before the year turns—when the light is low. In a time of reflection, of shedding, and of preparing to step into a new version of ourselves. A new beginning.
The image I call The Mother Tree. She lives in Helen Putnam Park in Petaluma, standing tall on the hilltop. I visit her when I need to be received. She holds space in her ancient and unwavering silence. In her presence, I remember, allowing myself to just be this—as I am.

Transcript

Dear friends,

The poem I am sharing with you today is called Being This.

Today rises with the music of the birds flowing in through my window,

Bringing the outside in where the two can merge.

In this endless stream of life,

This deep breath of living,

We can decide to embrace what is here with positivity.

But can we relax into feeling all we are,

To dive deep into these expressions of life and find balance,

Allowing the imperfections,

Limitations,

And judgments while having room to breathe?

In this array of everything we are and still love ourselves,

And by doing so,

Allowing others to be in the beauty of their full selves.

Like a tree which stands with twists,

Turns,

And curves,

Performing its dance,

Receiving the gifts from the sun,

Wind,

And rain,

Their leaves brighten and fall and grow again.

As we go through life,

Our experience deepens us.

Our hearts,

Curved like trees,

Some parts hidden,

Some exposed to the elements,

All have beauty.

May we be the trees of humanity,

Standing in all our experiences,

And still find a place to state our name.