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  • Writer's pictureLauren


I walk along this path, slowly worshipping the sun- her light flirting with me as the clouds cover and uncover her magnificently warm rays. It's late September, and as far as I'm concerned it's still summer but the wind whispers to me otherwise. I climb over the dry creek bed in the Elliott Nature Preserve that lives at the end of my street, the stones and pebbles thirsty for the first rains on their way. The place where I am standing will soon be covered with water and salmon spawning, quenching these patient rocks. 

I have been in my home up the road for a year now. It's been quiet, painful, busy, and financially rewarding as my soul slowly suffers from the lack of my own perfection of not taking immaculate care of this body. I am humbled and brought to the earth every time I lapse, almost masochistically waiting for the Goddess to spank me with her chaotic lessons. Maybe I like the pain of forgetting Her way, maybe the release of redemption makes it worth it.

Maybe I am secretly in love with this game of suffering. 

The creek bed ends and I walk up towards the man-made path. I don't have to think too hard, I don't have to be too aware. The path is easy enough to walk on and was made for my feet. Yesterday felt like the first day of summer- the first day that schools out- and right now it feels like fallen leaves and pumpkins and the backyard bonfires I'm always dreaming of. When I walk slowly life is simple. I always know this is the answer and I am always forgetting because it just feels so good to remember. 

The sun kisses my cheeks when I find her patches. The path narrows as I move up the side of a rocky hill. There are gaps in the path where the hillside submitted to nature via landslides in an attempt to make the hill whole again. I sit in between a Madrone and an Oak while tiny lizards scamper over the potential anthill I'm resting on. I let the sun lick me, inviting her into my Labradorite necklace to soak up her rays. I don't have to walk far into nature to feel my connection with her; just enough to be surrounded by her. 

In this place of stillness there is nothing that I need, the perfection of my precise Virgoic wellbeing settles, the cookie and coffee and pork taco and quesadilla and partial ceviche tostada in my stomach settles. My thoughts about my imperfection and health and weight and waist and waste settles. In one deep breath surrounded by the Madrones and the Oaks and the golden leaves I am satiated in my core where no outside substance can touch. My insides are hungry for nature, not food. I keep thinking that food IS nature, made up of the natural world, and will be the thing that makes me whole. 

It's not me that needs to consume nature, it's nature that needs to consume me. 

I want to be consumed in her straw grasses and expansive sky. I want to be blown clean by her virile winds. I want her to take me and make me Hers. I want her rain to help me grow and her sun to help me blossom. And in her initiation I want to remember myself. My nature. My place within Her. 

All this time I have been doing the fucking when it's me who needs to Be Fucked.


My vision widens and her stoic light and winds welcome me in to my home down the road. 

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