I really feel the cold creeping into my veins. And not in a bad way. It feels more like the sensation I described in a meditation this morning: retreating deeper into the soil, when the icy winds rage above ground. Like the roots of trees are drawing in their energy, and slowing down their flow of saps and nutrients – so too do I feel a slowing down take place inside me.
For the first time in a while, I feel the freedom to do so. I know I’ve planted my roots deep and strong. I can trust the limbs and twigs of my tree will stand tall through the dark-cold season. I know I’ll be able to whither any storm that might come my way. I know it will pass, and I know the light will grow again once it’s time.
In the meantime… I’m free to dream.
To dream of a beautiful living space in the green, surrounded by tribe, by animals, by food grown on plants I cared for with my own hands. To dream of a thriving business, where previously lost souls like me have found a home, where their creativity blossoms and they are rewarded fairly for all their soul-brought wisdom. To dream of poetry and songs, of art and beauty, sprung forth from past experiences, woven into a tale of wonder.
These and many more are my dreams, manifesting themselves into the realm of probability while my body slumbers.