I’ve been mucking about and making friends with a rather wicked way. It’s a well-worn path my ego and I travel hand-in-hand. I leave bodies in my wake, wounded and bruised, because I’ve gone all in on one thing; me. I spend each moment protecting, preserving, and defending at all costs. Unless something changes, and soon, the life I always imagined living will slip through my fingers and vanish like the windblown sand.

I want roots that go deeper than self preservation. I want roots that stretch into new soil, roots that hunger for the possibility of love, roots that reach all the way back to my beginning in the garden.

From my belovedness I can produce a life ablaze with blossoms worth sharing. So I’m taking new small steps. I’m headed for a new landscape. One where goodness, delight, and shared humanity will be water for our dried up souls.

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