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Being new at something. Not knowing your way around a city you've never visited. Starting over. Sharing something you wouldn't share with anyone a year ago. Telling your story to a stranger. Seeing someone as they are for the first time. Standing in the rain and wanting to get wet. Trying a new recipe and failing. Saying something you know you shouldn't say. Drinking a cool glass of water when you wake as you start to remember your dreams. The desire to be better.
It's a certain kind of green, opening ourselves up to the new and different, experiencing failure and still standing in it even after the crash has passed. It's a way of being in the body. When I try something new I feel like my heart becomes a puppy, getting out ahead of me and leading the way. I feel like, yes, a child. And it's in the springtime that nature shows us how to be green again.
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This week I was especially green on Wednesday. I'd met with my yoga teacher and mentor to talk about things. After our meeting, I felt a shift. She had listened to me about some concerns and ideas that had been on my mind for a while, and after being listened to in such a way... well, it felt like a collection of new thoughts about things was trying to emerge. Too many, in fact, and so they sort of clustered in my body and mind, leaving me feeling agitated that afternoon as they all tried to rise to the surface.
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So I went to the park. I surrounded myself in green.
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And as I sat and wrote in my journal and let all the green things bathe me with their own breath, I watched one leaf and let one new thought emerge. Then turned to watch one tree in the distance, and from underneath that thought came another one. Soon a parade of sensations and thoughts came out like fragments off a cloud. I had shed some things with my teacher, created room in my psyche for an opening to occur, and the green encouraged me to take my time and let each one pass.
One new thought encouraged me to take my teacher's yoga class that night. I'd not been in a while because of work and family. I'd missed it so.
I texted my husband, "Going to yoga." And off I went.
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And the class became an extension of the green - nourishing and new. I felt like I was taking my first yoga class. And in some ways, I was. I'm glad I listened and decided to return to a source of inspiration in my life. I love my teacher and her class. And now, in retrospect, I can't really justify why those things kept me away all winter long, but they did. And that's okay. I was there this week and I'll be there next week.
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Something about the class reminded me of my recent fortune cookie: "We never know the worth of water till the well is dry."
Who wrote that? Did they have a well with water where they went each morning to take a drink? Don't we all have wells, little caverns full of spitfire and watery wishes that we generate when we love something, go for a walk, read a poem, hear a beautiful piece of music, stand in the rain and get wet, sit in the park and breathe in the green.
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I hope so. Green feels so good.
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I hope you find some green in your days this spring. Take on the new. Relinquish your expert to the buds. They know the way to grow. From the roots of a tree emerges a flower or a leaf - one for every soul. Step into their airspace and drench yourself in arrival.
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