This Spring, I Choose Embodiment

This Spring has me absolutely unhinged with gratitude.
Not the polished kind.
The feral kind.
The standing-in-Rain-Singing-thank-you-to-the-sky kind.

Everywhere I look, Earth is gifting her beauty.
Rivers swollen with stories.
Moss neon again.
Bridal veil corridors 
And Lilac curtains.

Birds sharing chorus with their prophecies at dawn and dusk
The scent of cedar smoke moving through wet air feels like an ancient prayer returning home.

My nervous system — after seasons of carrying, tending, surviving, witnessing — is finally unclenching one gorgeous millimetre at a time.

I feel so grateful for Water.
How she never forces.
How she shapes stone through devotion, steadfast flow
How she teaches us that slowing down is not failure — it is intelligence.
Feeding the soil, tending to my sense of hope
Life, Medicine and Ceremony She is.

This season, I am deeply re-membering the Medicine Wheel teachings around cyclical living, rest, relationality, and healing that cannot be rushed. The old capitalist spell says “push harder.”
I hear her say:
pause.
listen.
breathe.
soften enough to hear what still hurts.

I see this everywhere in the therapy room, too.
So many beautiful humans are arriving exhausted from trying to heal in ways that abandon themselves. Trying to “perform wellness.” Trying to outrun grief. Trying to become lovable through productivity. Me too when I pivot to old strategies.

Yet, I know healing has its own rhythm.
Recovery is not linear.
The body is not a machine.
Sometimes healing looks like:
drinking water slowly.
crying in the car.
planting peas anyway.
taking my time to respond
letting myself rest without earning it first.
telling the truth even if i may disappoint another.
opening the windowd during Rain.
​
Lighting Cedar and remembering I belong to the Earth too.
Learning softness and deep listening is strength.

This Spring I do not want enlightenment.
I want embodiment.
Wet soil.
Nourished roots.
Cedar smoke.
Heart conversations.
Community connections
Birdsong.
Slowness.
Hands and feet in the garden and a whole lot of Silence.

Contributing to therapeutic spaces where people can finally exhale without needing to explain why they are tired.
​
May we remember that Water does not apologize for flowing at her own pace.
Neither should we.