Yellowstone bubbles within me, the mud, the colors of the microorganisms thriving in different levels of heat, geysers, rocks, temples of all kinds. I keep reading about the park, enchanted, unable to pull away.
One morning Chris and I sat absorbed in the reflection of Mt. Moran in Jenny Lake in Grand Teton National Park. All was still, and then, birds flew in. Morning began.
The bears we saw seem to curl inside. I am lighting a candle for a young friend who is at Mt. Fuji right now, studying. I feel and balance water and fire, mountains and valleys, feeling an inner dig that connects what roots and drives my vines.
I feel delicate and fragile, strong and cared for, embraced, and embracing.
I am debating a five day workshop that starts tomorrow. It will be intense. What calls me now? Inner? Outer? How to balance and honor alignment in this place I spin?
On this trip with Chris, I sat and watched rivers and lakes, entranced with circles rippling outward. How do I spread, expand, contract, and eventually, honoring ease, disappear?
Do I respond to the toss of a rock, or to the lift and lips of a fish?
Am I called to sink, or reach, and how do I balance rise and fall?
Aware, call clears. Fog lifts. The embrace of love, ah, awe, bliss.