I write and I write and I write. Nothing ever gets published. Everything sits in the draft box. Sometimes it’s word vomit, sometimes it’s strategically scripted. The common theme is, it all pours out and when it’s done I don’t feel like it needs to be shared. Sometimes my emotions and feels are so strong that I know they’re fleeting. The words I write one day may not resonate as strongly, if at all, the following week. Feelings change, and impulsive writing and posting is pointless. Writing filled with anger and intense emotion has not been reflected upon and re-read. I find it funny that if I write an emotion-filled blog post and leave it in my drafts, after a few days, the intensity of those quickly typed words has faded. They don’t sit with me as strongly. It truly depends on what it is of course. Some subjects I’ll always feel strongly about. The way I word my posts may change if I sit with them for a few days instead of hitting publish immediately.

If you’re writing from somewhere other than from a place of love, even in regards to challenging and controversial subjects, don’t post it. Writing from a place of love doesn’t mean it’s filled with fluff, it means it’s sincere, reasonable, and non-judgmental. It is what it is. It comes from a place of love rather than fear or anger. Fear and anger are your ego’s best friends, and when you write publicly, you don’t need this trio. If you have a message and you need to share it, write from a place of love and I guarantee your words will be received on a much deeper and transformational level.

I understand that sometimes you just have to write and let it out and it can be shitty and raw and unedited. This is one of my favorite activities for releasing unwanted energy. Maybe you just journal it. Maybe you feel compelled to share it. We connect to authentic emotions, and that doesn’t mean you have to force them when they’re not there. Write them if you feel them. Do something else if you don’t. If it starts with anger but ends in a place of love, write it. If you feel you need to share it with others, post it. Do you and stop reading so much in to what other people are doing. That doesn’t mean disregard their feelings, it just means, be conscious of your own. Nothing is more sacred or captivating than tapping into yourself.

If it’s something personal, I’ll write it in my journal. Journaling is the best tool for pouring out everything that runs through your brain. When you need to talk, but you don’t want to hear someone’s opinion, journal. When you have body, mind, or spirit tension, journal. When something is on your mind and you need to work through it, journal. When you feel scattered, journal. Journaling is therapy. The best therapy a human could ask for. There’s no judgement there. It’s just you on that paper. If you want to share it with others, that’s your choice. Here it doesn’t matter what you write. Let your pen create an endless stream of consciousness.


Sometimes I’ll write, rip it out of my journal, tear it to shreds, and throw it out. If it’s bio-degradable paper, I’ve thrown it over the falls. Letting running water take your sorrows and fill you with a new flow of life is beyond liberating.

I stood under those falls today. Literally right under them, hair sopping wet, bathing suit top and spandex shorts soaked as if I had hopped in a pool. It was a magical mixture of fear and freedom. The water pounded my flesh covered skeleton so hard, but yet it’s cool splashes sent my heart fluttering with waves of freedom. I backed away to stand below in water up to my knees. Why hadn’t I done this a thousand times before? Why didn’t I do this as a child? I’ve always lived here. I’ve always sat next to them, listened to them, watched them, but only once or twice entered them that closely. It felt as freeing as being in the natural river hot springs that ran through Arenal, Costa Rica. Right here. Right here in my backyard.

I’ve been mad all summer that everyone has discovered my sacred spot. Surprisingly my tension over this sore subject is lightening as it is a beautiful place deserving of appreciation, something I’ve known all along. This is not my every day mentality, don’t let me fool you. Sometimes, (okay every time) I’m utterly pissed off when a fisherman tries to share the same tiny dock I’m practicing yoga on. I usually don’t practice if someone else is there when I arrive. My practice is sacred to me. I don’t want anyone watching. The falls are sacred to me. That land speaks to my soul. I feel it in my bones and it’s got me rooted, grounded, and alive. Sometimes when I’m feeling low, I need that land, that lake, those falls, that dock, and all of their beauty to myself. I need to be alone with the land. When I’m craving that on such a deep level and someone else rolls up, unaware of my need for peace, my inner world becomes even more broken, even more irritated. Sadness turns to rage at the thought of “Why can’t I ever be alone?!?! Is that really too much to ask?”.

None of those feels surfaced today because it was so fucking freeing beneath that water. It was right there for me all along. People came as I was immersing myself under the falls and I didn’t even care. I didn’t even care. I was happy to share the sunshine with them.

Standing at the bottom, right in the center, there was a mini water rainbow. The ends looped in…right to my feet. I was the connection between the two glistening sides of color. Above, the clear water rushed seamlessly over the rocky brown edge, scattering down in all directions, only to find reunion in the pool beneath my feet. The sky above the waterfall’s edge was so blue that the white clouds looked as if they had been painted on with watercolors by an exquisite artist. Turning away from the rushing water, there was a grey heron (what I’ve decided from an extensive 2 minute Google search) waltzing slowly in the river bed. He lives there. I’ve seen him many times, always alone, a true bird of solitude. He came for the mist from the falls. Turning cheek to cheek he walked closer and closer. He was probably going to fish near the bottom where the pools get a little deeper. I wonder how you come back as a bird. Simple days living off of the land among the chattering geese tourists of the summer months. I wonder if he flies south too. I don’t know much about birds, but I think I’d like to come back as one, one that can soar above the tree tops of course.


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