Happy Monday, party people. I’m floating the river later today. Grandma slept in but passed out again on the couch after some coffee. I can see she’s getting tired from all the company she’s had this summer. I don’t want to be part of that wear. I’m getting ready to do some traveling again for ceremony and the hat company. I have to get that all scheduled, and I hope she’ll let me come back. It’s all still taking form.

Invitations

It’s easy to miss invitations from the Divine when you’re too focused on yourself. Hiking yesterday, I came to a stump in the middle of the trail. It was hollow and low to the ground, like a little basket. At the time, I didn’t realize what would be beyond it. But the trail would change. The trail did change. After that point, the trees disappeared, the views were expansive, the wildflowers were abundant and bright. It was like the little stump basket said, Welcome, you’ve found the next door.

When we first passed it, I was intrigued but didn’t stop. If I had really been listening, truly not worried or embarrassed about what the friends I was hiking with would think of me, I might have stopped the first time, and listened just a little more.

It wasn’t until I went back a second time, alone, moving back down the trail, that I was able to get out of my self-consciousness and really be present. And when I did, all that the land was saying got so much more loud.

How happy the trees are to see us. How the flowers reach out to be admired. How the basket stump asks for an offering before passing. The guardian of the gateway of the forest. And how beautiful and magical everything you see and touch becomes. You’re able to let your imagination run wild because that’s where the magic of reality and your awareness meet.

The Divine gives us invitations to be with the world deeply, intimately, all the time, every day, without doing or needing to be anything but exactly who we are. For which the imagination allows us to finally see and be with the joy of the gifts we’ve been given. God gave us the trees and the water, the flowers, and the deer. We didn’t have to pay for any of the most beautiful things we’ve ever seen or could imagine.

All we’re asked to do, when we’re available for it, is to be with the joy of breathing, of the delight in the quaking of an aspen, of the generosity of the raspberry somehow ready for you at the right time.

For some, it might seem silly to look at the stump and see anything but the stump. We might have been taught that only children do that. Or that you’re “crazy” if you see beyond the sterile, rational, logical I AM stump. Yes, we probably know that the stump got there because it died and got hollowed out over time, and whatever. It’s easy to mechanize your life. That is a chair. That is a car. Fuck, how boring. How asleep to the world that life is!

Or, the stump is a basket, asking for an offering, before entering the most beautiful, wild, secluded part of the forest. How the forest breathes, interconnected, and alive. Could we have taken a moment to pay our respects, to honor the land, to be with the beauty and the magic of nature, without being so afraid of someone not seeing what we see?

What I’ve seen in the world, this kind of stuff, often wasn’t validated. Or maybe it just wasn’t talked about. Like it was some kind of game that was too silly to play. Like it wasn’t a worthy endeavour just to see and be with the world in a deep way. I can think of my teenager rejecting softness to hang out with the boys. I grew up in a neighborhood with a lot of boys. I loved them and always wanted to play. I thought they were so fun and funny and cool.

They bullied each other a lot, including me—at the time, it was a typical teenage boy thing. They’d probably just call me gay if I said something like I am now. Gosh, the boys I grew up with teased me so much. Those teenage boys would definitely call me gay if they read this. They’re grown up now and we know better, but we didn’t then. I still hold some of that embarrassment about loving something. Embarrassment about tenderness. The tenderness that used to get you called a little faggot (lol).

On my way back, I made a little offering to the stump. I didn’t know I should have brought a gift. I picked up a rock and turned to the stump and said, I don’t have anything I brought with me, but please take this offering as my intention to say thank you for allowing me in the forest. For letting me be filled by the time spent with you, humbled by your vastness, nourished by your berries, and joyous in your beauty. We leave the forest with a cup full and a soul just a little more healed. The Creator created life with just words. The least we can do is offer some in return.

I almost hit a deer

Oh, I almost hit a baby deer yesterday, too. Straight on. This little suicide bomber saw me, locked eyes with me from the side of the road, and decided, I’m gonna start sprinting, now. It was a very healthy, safe distance from me and the bike when we first saw it. Like at least 40 ft. But I don’t know what possibly compels it to start a full sprint towards me and the bike.

I’m going like 35 mph, at least. I’m watching it dart to me like, seriously, now? I only have time to remember to pull the front brakes. I do, and it passes just right in front of me. We were only inches apart.

What’s even more funny is we were right in front of the church I’ve been attending. The welcome sign of the building to my left reading, “Feel the Spirit”. The fawn only inches away. God in between saying, I got you, I’m here.

Love,
Val

Send in your prayers

Every Sunday at 1 PM MST, I’m going to be making a collective prayer. How can I pray for you this week? Are you going through something major or just need someone to hold your becoming with a little care? Whatever it might be, send me a note by replying to this email. All personal and confidential info is kept anonymous. Prayers will be live-streamed on Zoom.

I’m writing every day right now. If you missed one or want to see what’s been written before, click below.