This is an inconvenient time for going wild. I have responsibilities. And it’s cold outside. …..

I watch my hand that holds the hammer that pounds me into a shape that fits the proper hole. I pound and pound myself, but I don’t quite fit. I squeeze a bulge in here, shave off a sharp edge there, and pound and pound and pound. I try to whittle myself down to nothing so I can disappear. Bop bop bop on my head hits the hammer. Square peg in round hole. Redwood into toothpick. I cut the inconvenient pieces off – limbed so I can slide smoothly into the mill.

Limbs are where the wild things live – where birds make their nests.

Limbs are an impediment to masts and poles. I will wield the ax for you. Let me cut off my limbs to make myself suitable for industry. I will make myself straight and rigid and useful to you powers. Let me read your mind and do what you want before you ask it, so you are blameless.

Behold the limbless handmaid of the Lord.

I will stop pounding myself into a hole that will never ever fit. I will regrow my limbs and branches so the wild things have a place to live. I will nourish my roots and reach out for others’ roots, too.

I am no longer espaliered.

I am a redwood. I am an old ponderosa.

I am a woman following a carnivorous cat across a narrow ridgeling, an arête, on a dark night, with only my senses to guide me, to follow her – I can smell her, I can feel her warmth, I can taste her scent, I can hear her breathing and the soft sound of her paws hitting the ground with each step, and I catch a glimpse of her every now and then, in the starshine. Her eyes glow when she turns to make sure I’m following her.

I am regrowing myself. I am undebecoming.

Deep kindness. Compassionate heart.

Put down the hammer and the axe.

Let go. Free fall. Trust.

Allow yourself to be who you are.

Completely here.

I am giving birth to myself. I am gestating myself. I am both mother and child. I am womb and embryo. It’s not rational, yet it’s completely true.

We are not a fiber farm. We are not a monocultured industrial forest. We are old growth. We are complex and we harbor secrets. Sasquatch lives here. We have stories upon stories. Our usefulness is not immediately apparent. Small numbers of unusual organisms live only in us. We are interwoven and interdependent. We contain entire ecosystems in our crowns. Marbled Murrelets nest in our upper limbs, bathed in the fog from the Pacific. Treelings sprout from leaf duff six feet deep a thousand feet up.

We are the old ones. The living ones.

You fear our fertile, fecund, wild darkness.  We are at your mercy.

I am a seed on the wind.

I am an embryo in my own womb.

What’s necessary for growing a baby? Nourishment. Rest. Love. Patience. Strength. Peace. Vigilance and fierce protection.

Prepare.

You are deeply loved.

Growing is your job.

Be who you are. Exform yourself into the world.

Photo credit: jed Holdorph