When the ground beneath our feet — or the proverbial bird in the hand —
No longer serve their purposes —
There is —
A time to leap.
A time to jump quickly, suddenly and eagerly —
Into unknown territory, waters or skies.
Simply and elegantly in the direction of our yearnings.
With visible, exaggerated, exhuberant staggers on and about the unfamiliar.
And in our movement away from what we think we know — Or think we see — Or think —
We are —
We naturally find —
Yesterday I found a new way around the lake.
I crossed it.
Well — to be more accurate — I should say “we” crossed it.
Stella and I stepped boldly off the beaten path —
And onto the icy way forward.
We slip-slided and inched our way forward at first, me in the lead —
Barely steady enough to both put one foot in front of the other and —
Look behind me in the direction of my reluctant, but ever-faithful companion.
It only took a few minutes for her to join me where she walked gingerly with me for just seconds—
Leaping headlong into the experience —
Dragging me behind her —
Unleashing in me an embodied awareness of my fear of losing control.
Up came my huge insistence to be “in charge” on this sheet of potential danger. Up came my resistance to trusting her with “too much power” while my own footing was so unsure — so fragile.
For a moment, I froze.
Then I invited myself to let the fear of falling —
Thaw in myself.
Bladeless — and yet relaxed —
We wrote our way effortlessly, poetically, to the other side.
What have the icy sheets in your life helped you embrace and learn about yourself? Can you recall a time when you were pushed without your consent over an edge you resisted? How did you find your balance? Would you leap next time you come to this edge?