The path

Feeling the Earth on an Island

The world finds it interesting you are still here but make no mistake, it does not care if you are gone.

The path

Fresh. Alive. Raw.

Heartbeat of nature. Breeze.
Stars. Shooting stars brightly soaring thru the sky.
Not looking to soften life. No pretending the world is here for you. This planet is ticking no matter if you are here or not, it is not concerned with your well being. You need to be concerned with its well being.
An enduring bitter love affair with this island (St John in Virgin Islands). It sucks you into its folds, tumbles you along its roads. You don’t get to decide if you like it or not until it releases you from its clutches. This is the hate.
When you eventually come up for air, when you take a gulp of its oxygen, you get to decide if you smile or cry. Be sure to go with what ever emotion is pulling at you. When you want to cry, do so with all your might, when you want to smile, smile with all your heart. This is the place to let go. You will find that this island completely understands all of your emotions. It completely understand hate, love, indifference, idol worship, friendship, jealousy, betrayal, loyalty.  Let the emotion carry you to the shore, lay down and rest and reflect, let your RAW being feel everything while resting. This the the love.
You are safe for now, safe because you have connected to that part of you that was running away from yourself.  You are safe until you travel down a next road.
The island seems to want you here, It wants you to stomp your feet till you get your way. Its the earths way to receive a lot of massaging of its energy waves, thru the stomping, because it knows you will not get your way easily or quickly. This island is indifferent to you, whether you leave or not. It knows if you leave then another will come to lap up the beauty and soon begin stomping their feet. The massage continues. The humans that have stayed and learned to ride the waves and stomp less seem to delight in the way the island has fooled you into believing that if you stomp often things will come faster, for they know things will come when the island is good and ready to give them to you and they just say “stomp away, the island is loving it”. You keep stomping and realize you are chasing what you want further away. Eventually you learn that when the stomping slows down and either comes to a complete standstill or maybe a slow roll, you make it possible for things you want to jump on board your imaginary ride.
You fling yourself back to the mainland to get your way. And you do get your way in some small areas. Like a hot bath, you bathe in the supermarkets selections and small price tags, you bathe in the movies and California Pizza’s and tropical smoothies. You bathe in the easy freeways and straight roads. But the memory of water begins to cloud up and get cold. The crystal clear water with its rhythmic flow is not in your reach. The stars so bright no longer shine for you. The song of the night air with the frogs and birds, no longer sings for your ears. The familiar faces you once saw on a daily basis only come out on Fridays and Sundays at the local drum circles. Your heart aches for what is real, alive and raw. You are ready for the horrible roads, the itchy skin and the substandard food knowing your soul will be feed and soothed. It is a compromise you are ready to swan dive into. You know somedays you will soar and somedays you will flop. You grit and get it for now till you forget what you get and you go away to remember.
Balance for some, for others a constant grate rubbing them raw till they bleed. They didn’t balance and they bleed. Some never heal. You can see it in their sick bodies. This island is not kind when you don’t balance. It will grate you and you will bleed. It supplies all the necessary herbs to heal. Healing herbs like: Water, bush, fruit, sun, friendship. But you don’t take the hearts, you reach for the poison: too much alcohol, too much looking down, too much hiding, too little connection with emotion, locking it away or filing in the wrong drawer. Filing sadness and disappointment into anger, confusion into self abuse and rejection into isolation. Choosing to see those that are different as wrong verses honoring our differences. These are the things that make some bleed. The wound turns to puss, oozing out of bodies in not so pretty ways.
This is a choice some pretend is shackled to them when they have the key hidden inside them.
You can tell who has learned to balance. Their bodies are light and strong. They swim or hike or bike or run or walk with ease. They talk in stride with little rush to say anything. They know real language is in movement and not sound. Sound can be fun, almost a game but they know true language is in soft wind and gentle rain, in the hurricane and falling rocks. True language is in the dance of life, the connection of a shared task.
They is You.
The world finds it interesting you are still here but make no mistake, it does not care if you are gone.

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