If I don’t like something that is happening to me–or that I believe is happening to me–I fight it. Get defensive, self-righteous and angry.  It isn’t fair, shouldn’t be happening.  Or maybe if it is a mistake, I get depressed and despondent thinking that I am less and less and less than what I should be.  “Should” be–compared to some hallucinatory level of competence that is only visible when I fall below it.

Hard to be spontaneous in a corporate climate with a judging mind.

So I yield to the Divine that lives in the trees.  There is no judgment in a forest.  A dead mouse, a baby rabbit and a hoard of gnats all have their integrity.  Ants on corpses, fallen ancient timber and days of downpour are brilliantly beautiful.  Everything in it’s place at each second easily and comfortably.

I claim ease and comfort as I cherish the forest within me and around me.