What I imagine for you

a spontaneous note for all that is to come

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A song I’m loving:

wide expanse, 35mm film

I am imagining you bolstered with all you need to pivot, to change, to sink into what is asking to be sunken into, to shed the stickiness ready to be turned to liquid, to swirl with the unknowns while rooting into all that is sturdy.

I am imagining you held in the bigness you carry, in the smallness no one sees, in the regrets and dreams, in the longings and grieving, in the anticipation and fog, in all that is taking root somewhere unseen but felt, not yet recognized but trusted in.

I am imagining you remembering you get to start over in any moment, on any day, at any time — that your freshness does not depend on a calendar but instead resides in your very body, in your very self, always available to be turned toward.

I am imagining you walking in a world where violence is quieted, and love is what we throw around, and food is plentiful, and shelter is a given, and needs are met from generosity instead of earning.

I am imagining you able to say no when your body tells you no.
I am imagining you trusting of your yes when your body says yes.
I am imagining you willing to listen and discern what yes and no feels like for you.

I am imagining you creating time and space for what really matters to you — choosing the consequences of releasing what doesn’t — tolerating the discomfort of all that requires release in order to stay with what wants your attention.

I am imagining you as an infant, a child, a teenager, the oldest you’ll ever be, each version with their own longings and knowings, each version carried in the heart that exists right now, each version informing who and how you want to be in the present.

I am imagining some wide expanse meeting you in the terror and fear, in the sorrow and sadness, in the ache that persists even as new flowers bloom, even as the moon rises again, even as beauty remains an anchor.

I am imagining your delight as you let yourself be surprised, as you let something happen that goes against the story you hold about yourself and the world, as you fall into the unexpected and notice all the ways you’re able to float instead of sink.

I am imagining an invisible thread moving from your heart to mine, to theirs, to his, to hers, to the trees, to the roots, to the waters, to the winds, to the gardens, to the protestors, to the caregivers, to the cooks, to the snails, to the artists, to the ants, to the stars, to the whole of all you can never be truly severed from.

I am imagining you standing with eyes wide open in the face of something magnificent, something that reminds you of the whole point of being here.

I am imagining something beautiful unfurling right as you anticipate only the worst.

I am imagining you learning to love bigger, learning to let life in a little more, learning to stay with what you’ve long run from, learning to lean deeper into aliveness and slowly trusting you can be with the aching gold found only there.

I am imagining your ancestors witnessing you trying, beaming with pride and admiration.

I am imagining a circle of protection around you, around every living thing, but perhaps more importantly I am imagining loving hands holding you in the face of all that seeps past that circle.

I am imagining you reading these words and feeling into my marrow that this through-line to connection, these small acts of reaching out, the insistence on continuing to add something of nourishment to each other and to this world, might mean more than we’ll ever really know or see.

I am imagining each of us finding something we didn’t know we needed and being awed at the ways we finally let it all in.

I said in my last letter it would be my final of the year, but these words came out in a quick ten minute burst this morning and I felt called to send them to you. May they land where they’re needed. xx Sending deep wishes of peace and love to you and yours during this portal, this transition, this tender time.

Thank you, as always, for being here.

With care,
Lisa