Reaching for the Light


A few years ago I was stooping to pick up the small potted evergreen tree we’d left outside through the fall and winter. I found that during those hibernating months this little tree had been busy. A large root had managed to crack through its cheap plastic home and had buried itself deep into the ground.


The little tree had thrown out its anchor and said Here.

It had rooted itself.


Through cracked plastic, through driveway gravel, through inhospitable sandy soil.

Tenaciously seeking nourishment from deep below. All through the winter this little bush had been pushing down this one life root. It had settled in for the cold, trusting the deep.


As I pulled back to observe, I saw that this small evergreen was bursting with small little green buds, beginning its reach now in the other direction.

Up.


Nourished from below, and inspired from above.

Reaching for the light.


Nature always makes me pause in astonishment.

I’ve seen flourishing trees growing on the tops of large rocks, with seemingly nothing to hold on to. I’ve seen dead plants come back to life with just a bit of tenderness and care.

I’ve seen little streams wend their way through desert, mountain and concrete jungle to find and meet the ocean.


Life finds a way. Life always find a way.


This spring, like all springs, I feel my own blood quicken. My body wants to stretch upward, I want to move and lighten and shed. After a winter of quiet nights, evenings by the fireplace, early morning meditations in the dark—something in me now says Grow.


And so I do. And so we do.


Is there anything you need to trim or cut back to make this happen?

What will you allow to blossom?


What within you is reaching for the light?



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