How I became a tree.
First,
I decided that I no longer wanted to live linear time,
And instead inhabit the girth of age.
Now I grow in ever-broadening bands,
Expanding outward from what's always falling away.
I then decided to treat the place I grew as the same to which I will return.
Now I no longer separate the substance of life and death,
Nor the author of beginnings and endings as different from each other.
I decided to stay in one place and make peace with that which longs to hold me.
Only now do I notice the glinting gold specks in the still dirt that I used to judge as passive and idle and unambitious.
I decided that life wasn't about me,
But more about who I was in relationship with everything else.
I am now,
Because all else sees me.
I realized nowhere in my body did it say fast.
And without urgency,
Things still happened,
Things still unfolded in glorious and surprising ways.
Now I no longer rush towards someone else's nowheres,
And trust in the timing of my own bloom,
Of my own harvest,
And in the wintering that summons me to rest.
I realized that what was above was only as nourishing as what was below.
Now my physical foundations are as wide and stable as my spirit,
Strong and able to sustain me through an unseen world.
Since becoming a tree,
Storms have howled and skies have blazed,
And yet,
All have found shelter in the welcoming folds of my limbs.
My heart now lives on the face of every newly formed and fallen leaf,
And my mind belongs to the weaver bird.
All is fostered now from stillness,
From a place I no longer wish to leave,
From a home I decided to create rather than find,
From the roots that were finally allowed to take,
And the seeds that were finally cast,
With a longing for life to continue beyond my own.
I now trust that being who I am and what I am is enough to receive what I need.
That is how I became a tree,
And how my most restrictive fear of stillness and inactivity became my most accessible doorway into profound change.