The scientist and researchers of the modern world are finally putting it together that we need to be outside and they are finding data to support this. I don’t need the data, I just need to walk outside.
Nature is an endless source of inspiration. She takes your woes and distributes them among her branches and breezes and shakes the doubt right out of them.
When I step into her cradle I realize I am woman. I realize what this means as I watch the womanly grace of nature handle and delegate in stride. I learn from her not to get tripped up on the mess, not to get distracted by the disorganization. Because out of chaos, beauty is born.
Inside the mess of life piles up around me. The bills, the papers, the endless emails, the sheets of homework, the leftovers that must be eaten, the piles of clean and dirty laundry, and the endless torrent of words in my head that are longing to find a way onto paper, the trinkets from birthday parties, the ideas that need to be given form, an endless barrage of life’s stuff piling up around me in what seems to be a tidal wave of crap.
Breathe, I tell myself. Let it go, I tell myself. It will all get done in its own time, I tell myself.
And then the familiar whisper I know so well. A gentle, and ancient whisper, it comes from somewhere deep inside me, yet beyond me at the same time. It comes from some kind of core that I share with the rest of creation. It whispers, loudly…”go….out….side….”
I step outside. Nature laughs at me in a way that reflects my own silly nature. She sweeps her hand aside and the veil of my own short sightedness is momentarily drawn aside.
I see that her house is an utter mess too. She has piles of leaves in the corners of rocks. She has other piles of rocks that are only half way down the mountain, almost to the river, but not quite. She has clouds that are procrastinating on dropping their moisture. Some of her trees are bent from the wind, because she has not finished wearing down the mountain, and so the mountain creates a wind to be reckoned to with. Some of her flowers are wilting while others are blooming with vigor. Some of the seeds are not even planted yet. There are even dead animals lying here and there that her scavengers have not scavenged yet.
But she smiles at me with her fresh unforgiving nature and reminds me that all of this “mess” is the creation of beauty. All of this chaos begets beauty. Without the mess there would be no creation. All of it is a work in progress. The piles of leaves, the dead animals, the clouds holding their moisture, the mountain slowly wearing down, all of it is part of a grander outcome that will never be finished.
The work will always be ongoing. There will always be piles of dirty laundry and rotting leaves. And there will always be clean laundry and fresh flowers. And they will always exist together, like light and dark, there will always be a method of mess that leads to a beautiful outcome that leads right back to another pile of mess, whether that is a pile of rocks or dishes.
“You have to break a few eggs to make an omelette.”
“A wise man’s work is never done.”
-The Tao de Ching