Returning to Native Ground

There is a place for new, crisp and clean. New surfaces, shining like a new dime, and the sleek look of polished and ready to go. There’s a get ready connotation—as if something exciting is about to jump off. It is bold, exciting, and forward-thinking—waiting in the wings for its turn in the lights. 

There is also room for ancient things. It is most certainly a place for old in ways that sincerely respect and honor our teaching ability. These multifaceted stories create the tapestry.

One story = One thread. 

However, when all are woven in by skilled remembrances, we can fully appreciate the sheer humanity of it all. Becoming one soul, yet all of these unique and individual stories of why any of us are still standing. If you are here, you’re worthy of applause as those of our dear ones who have gone home.

 Hell, we all deserve a standing ovation. 

(Standing Ovation Break) 

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It’s time to dig in and dig deep. To put our roots back in the ground as is necessary for all living things. Plugging back into the network from whence we’ve come. 

Wolves and those who run with them aren’t meant to live a lifetime in suits. And it shows. The collars are scratchy, and they pinch mercilessly beneath the arms and feel more like an ill-fitting contraption as the day wears on. Why do we keep pretending that it doesn't? What are we gaining through subjecting ourselves to lives devoid of nature, devoid of laughter, and embarrassingly devoid of chill? We can't function without chill, so why do we keep trying to? We are acting like a toddler far too removed from their nap. Yeah, no Bueno. 

The Reality, Experience, and Science of Play have been proven over and over. Better brains, better lives. 

    "Play is serious learning." --Mr. Rogers.

We thrive on play like food and air.

Time to come home in a different way. To be brave and open to the sky, to return to the coveted bonfires beneath the stars. Remembering when the rain was on its way by the feel on your skin. To detect the scent of its perfume a few miles out. To read the upcoming winter news on a caterpillar’s coat. To know where crawdads hide and when autumn will throw her deciduous gown to the floor in a rousing encore. Leaving the ones who are paying attention, thankful we attended the show. The moon hangs languidly now, and what enjoyment it is to be in the presence of it. The fullness of your heart feels like no other. 

To climb, jump, run, and never tire of the thought of it. To become again as wise as a child. Even only to bare feet amongst the blades of the variegated backyard. To bring back all semblances of the yard and its wild green our souls love so much. To stand upon it, intentionally seeking all that it has wanted to give to us since we walked away from it decades ago. 

To breathe in the lushness of earth. Its time-traveling depth courts our senses with memories of mud pies and starting from where we began once more. When you were at your most vibrant and wild—when you were truly free.