Hey there.
Welcome to a hit of hope.
I once read something in a meditation book about a lumberjack.
Carrying his axe.
Into a dance hall.
And as I sat with that image,
It felt like a wise reminder.
The tools we use in the world are important,
Helpful.
After all,
Imagine trying to cut down a tree with a butter knife.
But carrying an ax into a dance hall.
Feels like an invitation to madness and mayhem.
So with meditation.
We are asked to put down our everyday tools and weapons.
To arrive as we would.
At a dance.
I'm protected.
Vulnerable.
Ready to move.
With freedom into a space.
Of not having it all figured out,
This is what I have to do.
Rather it is this invitation.
To step in to a flow.
Of being in the moment with no end goal in sight.
This came to me recently.
Because the world right now.
Can feel.
As if it is filled.
With axes.
Everyone is carrying this.
And it's really not that surprising.
Because I'm sure we all know.
It is far easier to cut something down.
Than to build something.
Or someone.
To cut someone down?
One whack.
Is often.
All it takes.
And with this wham,
Bam,
Thank you,
Ma'am kind of living.
What gets left behind.
Is a fallen thing.
Hurting.
There's another way.
The way of the acorn.
The poet Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote.
The creation of a thousand forests is in one.
Acorn.
Let me repeat that.
The creation of a thousand forests.
Is in one.
Acorn.
One little thing can grow and build and create an entire creation of goodness and beauty.
Safety.
And nourishment.
And that might sound all fine and good.
But what we really need to know is that each acorn.
.
.
Has to follow a kind of hero's journey.
Like I said,
That can sound awesome.
Until you really dig into what it means.
To become all that it could be,
A thousand forests.
An acorn,
First.
Has to let go.
Of what it knows.
It knows what it is like to be held by this big strong presence.
Where it has this beautiful view and knows what its days will be like.
Yes,
Surely there have been some storms.
But just think of all those hours.
Days.
We.
Of ease.
And like.
To become a forest or all that it might be.
An acorn not only has to let go of that certainty of what it has known,
But a crucial part of its growth story.
Is it has to fall.
Again,
Let me repeat that.
A crucial part of the growth story.
Is that the acorn?
It has to fall.
Onto the hard earth.
Into the mucky mud.
And I don't know about you,
But if we're supposed to be the acorn,
And that's the question before us,
Do we want to be an axe or an acorn?
I don't like that.
I have to fall down to grow?
Um,
No thank you.
But the hero journey doesn't end there.
An acorn actually needs to be buried.
In a world.
That has suddenly let go of everything.
A world that turns so very quiet.
And cold.
And the days and nights grow so still.
It might feel like there are no signs of life.
And this might be the hardest part.
To be.
Of trust.
To wait.
And wait.
And white.
Then,
Fine art.
There's the term.
Back to a world.
Of softness.
And yet even this moment is not all unicorns and rainbows.
And maybe I lied because this might be the hardest part of all.
At this point,
The acorn has to risk.
Letting go.
Of its protective shell.
It has to open.
To be vulnerable.
To root.
To reach.
And then to surrender to everything beyond its control.
Rain?
And let's not forget.
Crime.
The acorn takes months.
Years.
Decades.
To grow.
Just as we all do.
And while you can rush the job with an axe,
Not that I recommend it.
.
.
You can't rush a tree.
You cannot.
Rush.
It will grow in its own time.
There are no shortcuts,
No overnight buy it now buttons to get what we want immediately.
So can we just state the obvious?
None of this.
Is easy.
Like I said,
It is easier to be the axe.
It really is.
But I hope you know this,
It matters what metaphors we choose to live by.
Will we be the axe?
Or the acorn.
The Hatch.
Are the hope.
I invite you.
To trust.
To wait.
Open.
To rest.
And life light.
And shine.
