I cannot stand before you and tell you how to walk straight.
The words that leave my lips would slither around you,
wrap themselves around your ankles,
tie you up, weigh you down.
I cannot show you where the path is with a common maker’s map,
my hands do not hold the craft of cartographer,
my compass is imperfect,
pointing and pulling in many different directions
all at once.
I cannot stand on a pulpit and preach to you
the lessons so divinely beaded into my experience.
If I did, the words would not set you free, but rather weigh heavily,
obscuring the letters, creating storms out of dew drops.
I cannot try to convince you of what freedom feels like, nor of love, nor of purpose,
nor of the infinite flow of possibilities that pulses through us all.
These attempts would only constrain the beauty of them,
cheapen them, talk away their magic.
Instead, what I can do (and ought to do),
is learn to focus my efforts towards walking well,
to let my joyful swaying hips do the talking for me,
to show the effortless power of living in harmony,
to delight in connecting with what feels good.
To let my demonstration be my loving gaze,
to let my feet do the leading, not my mouth.
To submit to the subtle art of living my truth, instead of talking it to death.
To allow an understanding silence hold space, for whatever will be.
To walk forward on this Earth in a good way,
and to trust that just walking is enough.
Author: Alix Koloff
Assistant Editor: Elizabeth Brumfield // Editor: Caitlin Oriel
Photo: Wesley Eller/Flickr