The railroad tracks

Dear blog,

Bess and I went on a walk today, to an unusual place.

The space between the railroad tracks, with sage brush, and old bits of insulators, and railroad derbies.

Bess just decided she wanted to explore. So I followed her.

The sage was growing tall, and it smelled beautiful. The entire time we were walking along side it, there were no trains. It was very peaceful.

We were able to look at the old glass, and rocks, and bits of rusty things. The sun came out for a while and we both enjoyed sitting in the sun.

The snow, most of it had melted. So the ground was wet, and wonderful.

This space.

Was very good. The irony of it was it seemed to be the most-wild, and untouched spot in a sea of perfect, manicured farmland.

This was a bit of wilderness, left.

And the funny bit is.

The coming of the railroad was the thing that made this area, at least, I think it was, much more populated, and developed.

But here, besides the tracks that had brought so much industry.

This space was uncleared.

The sage brush was so tall, its aroma was so delicious when passing through it. There were beautiful bits of blue glass, and I gathered some glass, and bits of snowflake obsidian.

It felt refreshingly beautiful. Wild and interesting, and soothing at the same time.

I had good company.

Bess kept on calling out delightful things she saw. It made me happy.

And the earth was beautiful.

The sage brush was so tall, no one in the world would know that we were in the dip.

A hidden place.

Very happy. Content.

When it was time to go home, we stepped out onto the road, and looked out over the flat-farmers lands.

The difference was startling.

The land felt sterile, and empty. Quite bleak, even though nature can’t really be that, all the way.

No sage brush, just miles, and miles of flat cleared land.

The contrast was startling.

But Bess and I were both happy. We brought the ambiance of the sage, and the wild place back into the house.

And somehow, I think as we all have places within us that feel quite industrialized. Efficient, and reliable in knowing how much yield you’ll get, and what crops to plant.

And it is beautiful when it’s green, and spring.  

But the places no one wants. Those are the places where you can wander, unseen. Wondering what you’ll see next.

What is over that brush, or look, a big ole coyote hole. And here is an old bottle, or a piece of purple glass.

Here, it feels a little more unsure.

You don’ know what will you will find.

How lovely these places are to me, and how lucky I am to be able to have someone to go with to explore them.

Sometimes, I feel a bit like this little patch of land, with a train running through it, side by side.

Mostly.

Me, my own little patch of land.

It doesn’t really need much. Peace is delicious.

I see though, contrast gives stillness an even more beautiful ambience.

Just like a crowded room feels quieter after a big party has left it.

It is as if the noise of the train, and its absence, makes the land feel that much more holy.

And myself, too.

Once I settle into my own peace, after noisy trains.

Yet, as I look at the world, and myself.

And I see how very difficult it’s been for everyone. How most of us haven’t been properly parented very well, because our parents weren’t parented very well, and thus and so, on and on, a long train of action and reaction.

And so we have all done our best.

Fulfilling our measure of creation, loving in the only ways we know how.

All of us chugging away, through the land. Trying, as best we can.

I think.

And like the land, we have been made to bend, and mold to all the desire trains, and rules running through them.

Trains carrying waist, and toxins, that poison the ground.

And somehow the ground is still asked to produce.

Our bodies, and minds, and souls gradually getting more bleak, never knowing the beautiful space that still is there, but harder to see, through a temple that needs cleansing, and a space in which to feel your own land’s love.

And we carry these hurts with us from childhood, we don’t even know we have. Our bodies store memories of things.

Our voices tremble.

And all of us are afraid of saying true things, because we associate the truth with punishment, or some harsh thing.

So we go, and sugar coat our life, out of fear.

And we are afraid to say what is most true.

All of our souls desiring so much, never knowing we are just desiring that land.

That space we used to know so well.

We all pretend we know what’s going on.

When we are all afraid, and clueless.

We pretend to bigger, or smaller than we are.

When deep down, we just are just like anybody else.

Trembling, and loud, and noisy, chugging away, because that what we were taught to do.

Sometimes…

If we are lucky.

We pause.

And get out of the train.

And walk.

And we find a space that helps us remember who we are.

That we are just a piece of glass, that sometimes, if it is clear, reflects light.

But when the sky is dark.

I mostly feel like a frightened seven-year-old, playing dress ups, in clothes that are much too big.

Someone who writes things down, trying to find meaning.

A place for me to stop.

And look.

And listen.

Knowing at the fringes, that the only real thing of any meaning is love.

This is the only fabric we need dawn.

And that is the highest truth.

That we are made of this cloth, stitched together by God’s hands, woven, and sewn with love.

And I hope, that though this blog has winding roads. Roads that go up and down.

A mood ring, of my own seasons.

Where I write things down, consoling my self.

I hope you find a path that leads you to your own piece of unplowed land.

Where your mind can be still.

That the train doesn’t have to go anywhere but where you are.

Where you can, for a moment, remember your own stillness.

And smell the sage, and gather rocks, and bits of blue glass.

And feel the sun.

And feel safe to be invisible, but fully present. Seen, by yourself.

A place where you can feel for a moment, some bit of your own truth, that has been hidden in lands that have turned into a metropolis.

A place, where you can feel all the emotions that have been unfelt, where they are safe, to be expressed, and seen.

Where the grief and violence stored in our bodies can melt away.

Where you don’t have to feel you have to earn, or change, or be different than you are.

Where you can feel these pieces of sorrow, for our lands that have been plowed too much, for places that weren’t allowed to grow wildflowers, and dandelions.

And bask in your own ambiance.

That for a moment, you can find the road that leads to your own land.

My sister said today, “All of us want union. Want love. Want unity.

Yet few of us dare undress. We want unity fully clothed, and armored.”

Few of us dare to be real, because we don’t know how many layers there are.

Few of us dare to be real, because our truth might look as wild, and untamed and simple as the space between the railroad tracks.

A piece of land that holds great weight, and lets things run through it.

But it is still there.

A quiet place, though the trains boom and rumble.

It isn’t anything big, or special. It’s just a place.

And the engine running through it, who build it?

Who laid the tracks?

Why does it honk so in the middle of the night.

And who is running it?

Why did it come?

I don’t know.

And this, I think, if we were to go back, and find the answers.

If all the big words we use to clothe ourselves in, were dropped.

If everything I ever wrote was peeled away. And all trains of thought ceased.

If all the deeds I ever did were like clouds in the sun.

And if all the hurts, and blocks within me were healed.

And all sorrow mended.

And my voice was as true as that land, and I could feel safe to be as real as it.

That I wasn’t afraid of my own natural expression.

If we all felt safe to say, as naturally as a child, I like this, or I don’t like this.

This is fun, or this is boring.

And lets play. Or this makes me scared.

Things would be so much more simpler.

We would all share more.

The world wouldn’t need so much tape, and glue, and people making more rules to hold things in place.

If we could all feel ourselves.

We would look right where we stood, at the ground, and know that plowed, or not.

It is, unconditional.

As your soul.

As everyone’s.

And it is beautiful.

All land is sacred.

And if we knew this. We wouldn’t want to control it so much.

If I could, I would undress my words. Any proud words that divided me from myself, my own land, and bring together those broken bits back to that place where goodness, and love, and unity are would be found.

I would with my words, mend, and build a bridge, from my land to yours so everyone could find the road back to themselves.

Where you saw how beautiful you are, and needed not change one thing.

Not one thing at all.

Only undress everything that is not real.

And see grace covering us all. 

This whole time.