Hello wild ones,
I am writing to you from my deck overlooking the valley of gum trees on my property and beyond. It is moody outside, with big grey clouds rolling in and thunder rumbling in the distance. An occasional bolt of lightning strikes nearby. I love a good storm and how it invites our presence to nature and others more deeply as we attune to our environment and each other.
As I sit here, together with Izzy - a cute dog I am currently caring for, and watch the rain pour down, the branches of trees sway with the wind, and the kangaroos hopping to seek shelter, I am in awe of the continuous lessons that nature provides for us - when we pay attention of course.
Nature expresses its every mood and tune, even the fierce claps of thunder, without hesitation. When the conditions call for it, she roars. There is no seeking permission or approval, just existence in truth. There is no preference for sunshine over rain, just acceptance of what is. And there is no rush to change tides, just patience to let it run its course.
I can’t help but wonder what might be possible if we allowed the same for ourselves.
If when anger arose, we let it express itself.
If when tears well up, we let as many of them fall as needed.
If when fear showed up, we allowed it to be felt.
Nature, like us, is cyclical. Just like the land around us, we traverse seasons and climates that stretch us and ask for our presence, for our tending.
We aren’t, by design, meant to be beaming rays of sunshine at all hours, because the moon also holds purpose, and the sun needs rest too.
But I wonder, how willing are we to allow our own inner nature to be wild?
To be felt, to be expressed, to be witnessed.
What thunderclaps have we been holding down?
What precipitation have we tried to delay?
And where have we been continuously trying to seek shelter from the storm within?
You know that still calmness in the air that arrives after a storm has passed? I don’t think it would feel so peaceful without the chaos that precedes it. And, I think that’s true for us humans, too.
It’s hard to navigate big storms, it’s harder to try and outrun them.
After all, the rivers and plants and animals rely on that rain to nourish them. Maybe our tears do the same thing for us.
Maybe we don’t need to always strive for calm waters, and instead allow the swell to rise and make waves. To let them crash on rugged rocks and move nearby debris.
Sometimes beautiful things wash up on shore.
It’s interesting how much solace we find when immersed in nature. Our nervous systems naturally find ease and rhythm when we are nestled amongst the trees, co-regulation in action with the elements.
I wonder what is possible when we connect with our own elements.
The branches within us that have broken from the tree, what might we find there?
As the storm slowly dies down here, I can’t help but notice the hundreds of rain droplets scattered all over the tree beside my deck, drops steadily falling from each leaf. The vegetables in the garden will be soaking up this rain and be ready for picking soon, nourishment for the grass, plants, and soil, and for us.
May we welcome each storm in, and receive the nourishment it leaves behind.
For no storm is void of meaning.
Laurita x
As always, stay wild and go gently….
I’d love to hear from you.
This was such a beautiful piece of writing. I love looking at our inner workings in this way. That the storms are needed to shift things and bring calm. 💛
❤️❤️❤️