This conscious mind thing is a bitch.  Always comparing, judging, discerning.

I remember being a tree with rain being rain, cold being cold, lost branches just falling.  Birds in my hair, squirrels climbing, bugs eating.  Life was merely a flow of growth–reaching up and digging deep.  My clan, the trees, keep whispering these truths.  They are puzzled why I chose this incarnation as a walking, talking, thinking tree.  So am I.

The reward for the work comes from the work.

Today I struggle for the Presence. Body throbbing from some stretch of food.  No more bacon at night.  And allowing it to bring me to Your cheek to cheek to cheek to cheek.