This week's Turning Towards Life is hosted as always by Lizzie Winn and Justin Wise of Thirdspace.

Turning Towards Life, a week-by-week conversation inviting us deeply into our lives, is a live 30 minute conversation hosted by Justin Wise and Lizzie Winn of Thirdspace.  Find us on FaceBook to watch live and join in the lively conversation on this episode. You can find videos of every episode, and more about the project on the Turning Towards Life website, and you can also watch and listen on Instagram, YouTube, and as a podcast on Apple, Google, Amazon Music and Spotify.

Here's our source for this week:

Her sturdy branches 

were the towering mountains 

to dance on. 

Her deep roots, 

the rolling rivers to frolic in. 

Every inch of her was infused with the wonder of the world.

Ten years later,

I am ten years older. 

I walk past the ordinary tree on an ordinary day. 

Her trunk was a place of comfort, 

just the place to eat my 

oatcakes.

In autumn her fallen leaves were 

warm blankets

for the fairies. 

In spring her golden buds

were the perfect shape 

of a fish for my fire.  

Ten years later,

I am ten years older. 

I walk past the ordinary tree on an ordinary day. 

I would look up through 

her web of leaves

at the cold sky. 

I would sit resting against her trunk, 

feeling her rootedness 

Into the underground world. 

Ten years later,

I am ten years older. 

I walk past the ordinary tree on an ordinary day. 

On one of my last afternoons with her,

she slipped something into my pocket.

When I asked what it was

she answered 

“You will know one day, when 

you are aware and awake” 

I didn't understand

those words so 

I sat,

I forgot. 

I trusted.

Ten years later,

I am ten years older. 

I walk past the ordinary tree on an ordinary day.

As I grew older 

And started to wake, 

I forgot what it felt like to feel so content

alone with her.

I forgot what it felt like to dance on her mountains, 

or frolic in her rivers. 

My focus started to shift, 

my life felt 

full and heavy, 

my mind was only ever thinking 

ahead of what was. 

My body felt full of weighted dread. 

Ten years later,

I am ten years older. 

I walk past the ordinary tree on an ordinary day.

One day, long after I had stopped

my visits to the tree, 

I reached into my pocket

to find what she had given me

all that time ago.

Now some may only have seen an 

oatcake, 

but I saw so much more, 

I saw the dreams I use to have, 

I saw the blissful joy. 

Ten years later,

I am ten years older. 

I walk past the ordinary tree on an ordinary day.

I saw her mountains, 

smelt the rivers,

I saw the fairies passing by. 

An explosion of life filled my heart 

as tears filled my eyes. 

As I looked at the oatcake

resting softly in my hand,

I wondered to myself 

how I ever lost this joy. 

Ten years later,

I am ten years older. 

I walk past the ordinary tree on an ordinary day.

I wanted to keep it forever and ever 

and never let it go, 

maybe if I gripped it tight enough, 

it would surrender and stay with me. 

In that moment I heard her voice, 

faint, 

Carrying the warmth

of a soft summer breeze, 

“it is always in your reach, 

my love,

 it will always be there waiting, 

but letting go is part of life, 

let this be your 

awakening” 

Ten years later,

I am ten years older. 

I walk past the ordinary tree on an ordinary day.

October 2022

Photo by Gilly Stewart on Unsplash