It's not that we are above nature,
It's not that we are visitors inside of it,
But we are remembering that we were never separate to begin with.
The same intelligence that teaches trees when to release their leaves is inside of your nervous system,
Teaching you when to let go of urgency.
The same wisdom that tells animals when to rest,
When to move,
When to conserve energy,
When to emerge,
Lives inside your body when you finally allow yourself to listen.
Maybe healing is not becoming something new,
Maybe healing is becoming less removed from what you have always been,
Not so far from trees that you forget how to grow slowly,
Not so far from the animals that you forget how to live without constant self-judgment,
Not so far from the seasons that you expect yourself to bloom every single day.
There is no shame in being cyclical.
The forest is not embarrassed when it rests in winter.
The river is not ashamed when it moves slower in drought and faster in rain.
And maybe you are not meant to be a machine of constant output.
Maybe you are meant to be something older,
Something wiser,
Something that knows when to root,
When to rise,
When to soften,
And when to begin.
Not because you proved yourself,
Not because you suffered enough,
Not because you achieved enough,
But simply because you are alive.
You are in the same breathing system as oceans,
Soil,
And sky.
And maybe peace is not you becoming less powerful,
Maybe peace is you finally standing in your original ecosystem,
Not separate,
Not performing survival.
You are not trying to outrun your own biology,
But standing where humans have always belonged,
Inside nature,
Inside rhythm,
Inside interdependence,
Inside a living world that never asks you to be anything except alive.
