Category: Growing



We can make change or it can be forced upon us. We can accept change or, against all logic, we can reject it.

We can not deny change. It is a constant. As the clouds change above us, life changes around us.

What we do with change is under our control. Even the most crushing change leaves rubble with which we can build new structures.

And what change can be more destructive than the change we allow ourselves to fall into when the winds change against us?

The ability to rise against the immeasurable force of negativity in life is inherent, but not so often practiced that all can say they’re standing.

To lay down and be walked upon by the deafening, angry army of doubt within is so much easier than to place palm to ground and push ourselves up that we’re decorated in mental bootprints.

But nothing tangible holds us here. No chains bind us to our weakness. No rope ties us to our sadness. There is no locked door trapping our anger inside.

Change that requires effort and that we must encourage, force and inspire ourselves to practice is not impossible to achieve.

We are sentient. We are strong. We must be willing.

Though we feel lost and separated, we are not. Through our own consciousness have we made the decision to lay and through this same power must we make the decision to fight.

WE ARE CHANGE! We are beautiful, flowering CHANGE!

And we will never be as grand as we are the moment we accept the effort.

And we will never be as strong as we are the moment we make the effort.

And we can.

And we will.

Or we will die. Murderers of ourselves.

We are change. Wilt or grow… We are change.

You don’t need anyone else

to make you beautiful.

You don’t have to be complicated

to stand out.

You don’t need others

to hold you up.

You can do it

all on your own.

When I was a young boy living in the hinterlands of Anderson Valley (Which, if you don’t know, consists of the two small towns of Boonville and Philo), my family owned a beautiful mountain ranch. Not like a cow and horse ranch, but a large part of a mountain with a simple cabin on it. I loved this beautiful piece of land.

There were redwood trees that seemed to go up for miles and had trunks as large as some apartments I’ve lived in. The ground seemed to be consistently red from the bark of these redwoods trees. Secret, fern laden creeks that ran to a river deep within the woods where we’d swim and see birds, deer, rabbits, and other various forms of wildlife parade around us. I’ve followed trails that I’ve never reached the end of, even after a day spent hiking through the woods.

At the base of the mountain, there was an orchard. Now a bare field with two simple apple trees standing far from each other, this was once a place where my family had grown fruit to harvest and live off of generations ago. Even in my generation, my niece, nephew and I used to play there and see dozens of trees. Apples, oranges, pears, cherries, and lemons grew each year offering an easy way to avoid going back up to our parents for food. There was also a 100 year old outhouse down there, but I don’t think we need to get into that horror story.

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