So far, no one or thing is showing up in this forest. I see more architectural movements- like openings that are more-than-tree. And always the white tree, the white light, and a beckoning. But a hesitation, too. I feel like I’m standing just a bit beyond this particular place. I feel myself stopping and really sensing out what’s around me. Im actually feel my body paying attention.
I can feel/smell the air here, and I sense green, mossy, wet. The other Forests felt more arid. How weird is this? The experiencing of it?
Yet,
the more you practice, the more you listen, the more whatever is moving around in the ethers, senses your devotion to your practice, and settles in again for the longhaul.
Art takes time. SO much time. It takes time to retrain your senses, time to build strong and sustaining relationships between head, heart, and hands. It takes time to replace those old voices with new perceptions, hard won with the grief of actually letting go of people, places, things, and the notion of who you thought you were. It takes time to catch your breath. Reassure oneself that whatever lies ahead is essentially ‘just‘ your life. So journal, write, sing, draw, create – whatever self expression brings you to life. I imagine that Life Itself desires to be fully lived, fully expressed by Humans, who are crazy good at: create, express, make new magic for the world; repeat.
It’s really not about The Work, it’s about forging a life-sustaining relationship between your essential radiance and the world around you.
The magic will happen. The unicorn will appear. But first, making an opening for The Practice of becoming yourself kinda makes sense.
The Journey 
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