Wildflower

Written July 16th, 2014.

You are a seed.You have been planted in the core of this ground and you are spreading your roots, making your way up through the soil, up from the Earth, like you know where you need to go. Maybe the wind has carried you a great distance to get you where you are now: in the present.  

I almost didn’t come. But the wind had managed to carry me to this sacred place surrounded by trees and a gray sky from all the way across the ocean in just over twenty-four hours. Glancing up at the gray sky that was threatening to rain, I deeply inhaled the crisp, fresh air. Merida’s smoggy, smelly skies were already long gone memories. I was back home, back to the soil of which I had originally blossomed… but something was different. I could feel something changing. It was going to be a positive change, but I was the only one who knew that. No one else would ever look at me the same…

 The seed does not know competition. Its life is not bound by outside influences. The seed cannot foresee the future, but it has a vision. You are blooming, blossoming in that place where only you know you need to be.

This voice had a forceful impact, as if it were the wind.

With my body pressed against the Earth in Child’s Pose, I felt rooted. I was grounded. I was a seed being watered by the rain that so coincidentally happened to be falling, ever so gently. It did not pour on us. We did not have to leave. We were where we needed to be; eight people on the sixteenth of July, doing yoga in a grassy secluded area in the park surrounded by trees.

But you are not the only seed. You were placed amongst thousands of other seeds, each sprouting in different places. But you bring your own uniqueness up from the soil, your own unique light.

And as I rose from the the ground, I blossomed into that red wildflower I picked on the hill earlier that day. I was carried across the Gulf of Mexico, had seen how the jungle’s tropical plants thrive,  and now had come all the way back to bloom again– albeit a harsher climate. This challenge was one that I was more willing to fight now.

There was no rain the rest of the session.

Because the seed cannot hear, it is able to grow upward into something better than it was, listening only to its core: the heart of the seed. We bring our hands to that heart center, knowing that this is the only place to begin our growth. We bow, bringing ourselves to respect that core: the heart.

I smiled at these words. Our movements were those of seeds sprouting roots, struggling to break through the comfort of the soil we had become so accustomed to.

The seed cannot foresee the future, but it has a vision.

After becoming fully awakened from my trance state, I walked to the water and submerged my feet, becoming one with the land. I then walked further to the dock, where I sat down, barefoot, with my knees against my chest. I watched the gentle waves all across the deep blue. I saw green trees on the other side. I became a part of those waves; I could feel myself rolling with them.

When I stood up, after an unknown period of time, I floated towards those green trees on the other side, barefoot. Once I reached the green trees, having no particular destination in mind, I walked even further, because time was all I had. But time didn’t matter.

the fight

what if

there was a way

to live without wasted time

what if

there was a way

to regain time wasted

what if there was a way

to regain time wasted by others

what if there was a way

to live every moment with meaning

to mend holes we’ve made with actions

that counteract our wasted time

and the wasted time of others–

i had a theory come to me

to live life as if

i were living for not only one

but 9 dying people

including some dying souls–

i am one of them

killing myself slowly

maybe even rapidly–

but in the process of realization

i am beginning to find motivation

and the strength to live this way–

it beings with every step

every thought

every word

every action

that i am living not only for myself

but for others who have strived

and those who are still striving

to live a life of prosperity

.

Reconnected

Today I reconnected myself with the Earth.

I didn’t know where I was going when I hopped on my bike, but I trusted the guidance of the great Spirit in the brilliant blue Sky, the shining Sun, the Wind that rustled the Leaves on the Trees, and the scare but beautifully formed white Clouds hovering in the distant Air. IT led me to a secret, sacred place. It is, I’m sure, a place that very few citizens in this city know about. They probably don’t care to know.

Hidden between two walls of trees changing colors runs a stream. A manmade path led me to Nature’s path that led me to the Stream.

I walked my bike further down the narrow dirt path surrounded by tall yellow and green grasses until I reached a place invisible to the outside world. The “outside world”, of course, meaning all things unnatural that would pollute Earth’s fragile soil—but this place remains preserved and practically untouched despite the flaws of modern modifications to civilized Cheyenne. I set my bike up against a tree with about five thick branches sprouting up from the ground a few feet above the Water.

I didn’t know what else to do, so I sat in the cradle that those branches formed, facin the stream, and wished I had brought a book to read. When I looked up, a small yellow dot shone through the yellowing puff of leaves on top of a branch that swooped up over the River on the opposite side. I had ventured down this path once before, but I hadn’t taken the time to sit in a Tree’s cradle. I realized that I was not only sitting in a tree above the water—I was sitting in a living chair. A chair with roots connected to the Earth. A book wasn’t necessary; I savored that moment, acquainting myself with this new place in solitude.

I took in my surroundings, the beautiful living things that are only seen by the crawdads and leeches from day to day. I breathed in the surprisingly warm air appreciatively. Then I began to talk, to ask favors of the Spirit that I found myself so connected to in that moment. I also spoke of my gratitude. I was so grateful to have absorbed so much Sun on an October day and found a place in Nature to meditate, right in the middle of civilization.

Eventually I stood up on the branch but I didn’t feel like leaving this peaceful place, so I began to stretch. Before I was aware of my actions, I was doing the Tree Pose in a Tree. I stretched my arms out parallel to the branches. Salutes to the Sun while facing the sun behind that patch of leaves in the sky followed my tree poses. It was then that I finally understood why doing yoga in nature is the real way to do yoga, and the most beneficial way.

My feet were suffering in my modern moccasins, though, and I had to get them off. I climbed out of the tree and walked further down the path until I found another opening to the stream where I walked down and sunk my feet into the wet sand. I sat down and immersed both feet in the Water, glad to finally be officially reconnected with the Earth again. The water washed up memories of cleansing my body with water in a similar hidden stream that I’d discovered last year in Laramie, the town I dreaded living in (until I found that stream to dip my feet in). These water sources are so real to me—raw, unfiltered water that falls from a Higher ground and mixes with the Earth and its various stones to become healing. Holy water. So I washed my legs and arms with this same holy water that connects all living beings and became one with it all.

Upon emerging from the depths of the Earth, I felt instantly more awake than I had when I first entered. My senses were more intense. I could breathe clearer. I thanked whatever it was that led me there, and I thanked my own trust in that intuitive sense. I thanked the wheels of my bike that took me there even when I was hesitant to use my own strength.

September

September is the month of dreams that are so vivid I don’t want to come out of them. A warm embrace from which I still felt warm upon waking. A road trip over dark bridges, only to reach an entrance of psychedelic wildflowers in Virginia. Flying with a purple long-haired dog-bird who taught me to fly, then becoming a bird myself with wings, flying over Peruvian ruins—only to find, unbelievably, I didn’t have wings upon waking.

September is the month of scents that linger in the air, setting ablaze flames of inspiration to my mind. A candle warming the atmosphere of my dark room at night. Smoky incense sifting out the window and into the morning air. Artificially-fragranced lotions that stay glued to my arms all day. Wild alfalfa on evening walks up to the park. The delicious aroma of coffee in a warm coffee shop. The first fallen snow of the autumn season on the cold downtown streets.

September is the month of mysteries that introduce profound ideas. Retelling stories of local murders that happened years ago on walks through old, haunted neighborhoods in the rain. Losing myself in a room with magical, pious paintings on each wall. Exploring thrift shops filled with items that have thousands of pasts with friends obtained solely by synchronicity. Exploring the theory of reincarnation, and which people of the present might have been in mine— and which people of the past I might have been.

September is the month to appreciate creamy sunsets with glowing, bright orange clouds. To explore the city limits by bicycle, discovering crystal clear ponds reflecting bushy trees, and other places that you hadn’t known existed before. It is the month to deeply inhale every breath of fresh air, no matter what color the sky appears to be.

Decision-making For Beginners

She did a lot of crazy things that summer that no one would have expected of her. The younger version of her indecisive self wouldn’t have expected her to do these things either, but they are things that define her now.

First, she chopped off fifteen and a half inches of her long, luscious hair and donated it to be made into a wig. She didn’t even ask which organization it was going to when she handed it to the hairdresser. Then she hopped on a plane to Yucatan, Mexico with a group of twelve other college students whom she didn’t know and stayed there in a rural Mayan town for six weeks. While she was there, she swam with catfish on three different occasions. She walked barefoot on the ridged ground of a cave to release her negative energy to the Underworld. She touched the holy water that, according to a legend, would cause her to get married to the love of her life that she hadn’t met yet. Then she ran through the salty Mexican rain on the dirt roads of the small town. She ate banana horchata milkshakes that contained large chunks of “street ice”, but it never made her sick. When she was in the big city, she didn’t hesitate to ask the professional musicians playing outside a fancy restaurant if she could sing with them—and so she did. She wrote a song in Spanish for the first time. She took a taxi to a different town and visited a shaman. She interviewed 10 people in one day, all in Spanish—a language that suddenly struck her as natural only on that very day. She moonbathed under a full moon on the roof of a hotel restaurant and played “Hallelujah” on the guitar. She fed mossy turtles red flower petals. She thought for a second that since she was an old soul, she might have been a reincarnated turtle.

When she returned to Wyoming, she went on a walk and picked various wildflowers from the hill and made a bouquet. She tied a silk scarf bow around the vase. She went to yoga in the park, where she came to the realization that she was a seed blossoming into the red wildflower she had picked earlier that day. She walked out to the lake and sat on the dock, becoming part of the moving water as she watched its gentle waves. Then she ran in the rain again. She bought organic produce for smoothies and drank her way through a detox. She ate vegan chicken with some mid-twenties hipsters. She began meditating and engaging in yoga classes. She felt compelled to create a sociopolitical party to bring environmental awareness to her own community (but this is still in the process of becoming). She decided to change her musical style completely and so she made up bluesy covers of old rock n roll songs. Something had definitely changed, she thought, since emerging from the cave. Maybe she really had conquered negativity and was in a new dimension, like the ancient Mayans believed.

But the craziest thing she did that summer, or so they say, was decided not to return to the University of Wyoming and study Anthropology and Creative Writing for the next three to five years of her life. They said it was a crazy mistake that she would regret. However, she was sure that she was on the right path—albeit a crazy and free-spirited path (she had always wanted to be a free spirit, though.) Her favorite quote, after all, had always been: “Do not go where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.” She would have never expected her life to fall so true to this quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson, but it did– and only because she believed the bold signs of the Universe to stand out more than flashing speed limit signs on the highway. She wasn’t sure exactly where this path was leading her, of course, but she felt as if her everyday magical occurrences were synchronically taking her somewhere. She felt, contrary to her horrible leadership abilities in the past, that she’d obtained a sense of direction.

As she walks along the path to this day, she picks up medicinal leaves on the way and inspects their veins. She finally gave up saying “I don’t know” to people when they would ask her what she wanted to do with her life and instead responded with either “I want to be a musician, a writer, a yoga instructor, and an herbalist”, “I want to save planet Earth”, or “You mean, what do I want OUT of life?” For once in her life, she had finally made a decision of her own. She decided that she wanted to be herself.

~Camille M. Garcia

Mañana Cotidiana

The roosters squawk, creating a canon song. An elder woman wearing a  traditional huipil dress sits in a chair eating a mango and her granddaughter sits besides her, eating a coconut. A man reaches into a tree with a giant fruit-picker while his son waits expectantly to catch the guayaba as it falls to the ground. A woman waters plants.  The almond-shaped leaves of the avocado tree sway slightly in the warm morning breeze. Spanish words bounce back and forth among the people in different positions on the back patio.
A girl of almost nineteen years sits at a table on the balcony of the hotel restaurant, observing this scene from below, imagining how peaceful life would be with these vivid colors, these bright sounds, and these friendly people surrounding her every day. A sense of community every morning, with one’s entire family gathered around a table now eating breakfast together in the gentle glow of the morning sun. Grandmothers, fathers, mothers, children, aunts, uncles, cousins, chickens. Now, birds chirp, singing songs in all different octaves. This place has become home to her, however, even if this family doesn’t speak her native language and they don’t share the same blood. The sounds of their voices have become familiar, their faces have become comforting. The songs of the birds and the squawks of the roosters have become a soundtrack to her life.

The trees are basking in the light of the sunset, glowing in gold. The hills are engulfed in a haze that is slowly rising. To the east, the sky is regaining its natural deep blue color that has been hidden all day, only to be turned black in just a few minutes.

For the first time in my life, I can see where each end of the rainbow touches the ground from both of my windows on the eleventh floor. Neither spot is far away from me; I would run there if I could, if I had the energy. I would tell the people in those areas that they are standing in a rainbow. How would we ever know if we were standing in a rainbow?

I forgot that they even existed. I haven’t seen one in almost an entire year, so here I find myself gazing at these vivid colors fading back into the clouds. I cannot be sure where that strip of floating colors goes as it ascends into the fog– I only know that the colors made it over to the other side, all in one, just as bright and vivid as before.