You belong here

upon the land

I remember a time in my 20’s when I was in a relationship with a man who wanted me to pick up rose petals out of the flower bed because he wanted everything to look perfectly manicured.

That was a breaking point.

But, like many things, these strange experiences throughout life often come full circle.

I’ve been quiet lately, grieving, feeling, dancing, spring cleaning, basking, being in awe of life.

So often people think they don’t belong here…I used to feel that way too.

A longing to be somewhere else…a desire to find home among the stars…a search for “something beyond” the here and now.

Then one day I realized, I do belong upon this land because, like the elements that are in play continuously around us, so am I made up of the same energies.

I belong:

Just like the bee to a flower.

Just like a bird to a nest.

Just like a field of dandelions to a wish.

Even when it doesn’t feel like it.

Because it’s not about belonging to a group, a system, a title, a label…it’s about belonging to yourself.

And you are a part of nature like everything else.

People that fit into groups think they belong, but often it’s an illusion…a changing of self to “fit in.” This isn’t belonging, it’s conformity.

News flash, you get to take up space, not because of some arbitrary attempt to tell yourself you are worthy, but simply because you are…you.

When I work with a client in feng shui, I have to first ensure I’m practicing what I preach, taking my own advice.

Today, as I picked up petals, I realized how much I had changed since the 25-year-old me was lost in a mis-aligned situation.

I picked up petals, not because of any means of seeking to control or perfect the landscape, but to give gratitude and offering.

I noticed the silky texture of a petal feels like it was dipped in a powdery coating…. I stopped to smell the fragrance…nothing synthetic, just purely heart opening.

I felt like creating with the fallen leaves and flowers around the yard. I picked up rose petals, dandelion, pine cones, rooster feathers, catnip, holly leaves, buckeye, comfrey, and mock orange.

It’s windy, a storm is coming…. I made a smiling tree…it’s ripe with possibility…feathered branches waving with lost sentimentality…. freedom gathered up in dandelion kisses…little white petals acting out their role as stars…. the rocks aiding in extra rootedness as symbolic preparation.

It’s not symmetrical….It’s not perfect…it’s not manicured…it’s Beauty in bloom….abundance without needing to plan, perfect or purchase anything.

My land-offering exists from things making their way back to dust.

Beauty from life belonging to itself.

Beauty from a simple exchange.

It cost nothing, but a little ambition and a sense of wholeness reaching around for assuredness that, though this is temporary, like life….it is also everlasting.

And the wind will come….and things will blow and break and change and move on….and then I’ll pick up some more petals and paint another picture with the abundance that blankets home.

Do you notice where you accidentally give away your belonging?...to distractions, to situations, to convenience, to anything else but the sovereignty that lives in your bones ready at any moment to override the noise. The world wants you to belong to it, to a group, to a way of being, to ideas that may not resonate with who you are, can you differentiate between them without losing yourself?

It’s not easy…. but, just like the wind must eventually become calm again, so can we keep coming back to center, back to heart, back to breath, back to the beauty of life.

Because I belong here…. I belong to myself…I belong to life…I belong to the land…I belong to it all…just as much as a petal or a leaf, a branch or pinecone…together we weave…together we take what is dying and forge ahead…fire - air - water - earth…the beauty of life is exposed by our individual touch….we create life by living it, by belonging to it, not merely watching it pass us by…the elements speak without words…and so it is.

Onward in beauty from a smiling tree,

~ Angela