You were on my run, in the middle of the road. You were on your back with your belly exposed, unable to flip over again. I picked you up and carried you to the edge of the road and thought that it was odd to see you here, mostly because I could feel you long before I came upon you. I was on a run and working through my emotions of feeling exposed. I had stopped earlier in the run and looked at a large tree that was blown over with the roots up in the air, exposed just like I felt. As I ran, I could feel that you would be there, I looked for you and there you were. You caught my attention but I couldn’t see you for what you were.
I walked on mothers day with a sense of ease that I hadn’t felt in awhile. I was alone. I was in the sun. I was in nature. I was whole. I was happy. I stopped in my tracks and I saw the sweetest canadian geese babies who were still awkward and struggling, clearly just entering the world, funny and new to life with all the innocence that new life brings. I stopped and watched, with a level of excitement that is hard to put on paper, but easy to feel. I overlooked you on your logs sunning yourself. It wasn’t until I zoomed out on the babies enough to see the world around me that I noticed you, sitting with your ancient knowledge. I didn’t see you.
I drove my mom back to see you. We stopped and looked for your sweet souls on the log, seeking the sun, seeking the light that brings life and love. I couldn’t see you for what you were.
Caught up in all of the human things, I tried to zoom out about life and what I was doing here. I took a walk and saw you sunning yourself, you made me smile. I stopped and told you how I loved your sweetness and offered you words in exchange for the opportunity to see you…. But I didn’t see you. I walked on, around the corner and to the bend. I said “this isn’t how life is meant to be lived” and just like that, I saw you. I saw you as clear as I could have ever wished. You sat in the middle of the road, one arm out of your shell and your head out, looking right at me. There we stood, staring at each other, and in that moment, I saw you. I saw you. I recognized that you were bringing me knowledge and understanding from a place that I was struggling to reach.
You made me recall the first time that a turtle came to me. I could palpate it in my body, as if I was in it again, living it over again. I rounded the corner on the run and there you stood. I kept running, right past your shoulder and knew who you were but never said a word. You spoke and I listened. You gave me a sweet message for your son, that he was much like a duck who appeared steady on the surface and that while he appeared steady, he was paddling like hell under the water. He needed to be like a sea turtle, one big push with all your body and then coast…. coast…. coast and then push only to coast again.
I remembered your words with a kind of sweetness and innocence that I needed to feel today. It reminded me of the early days of me opening to spirit communication and the universe. I walked home thinking of you and every turtle along the way. Why had I struggled to acknowledge you? Multiple times you were in clear line of sight and I couldn’t see you.
Later in the day I found myself in the garden, clearly needing to ground myself. I broke ground in the garden with a rototiller and it wasn’t until I was done being thrown around that I stepped sideways in my brain. With the rototiller I went up and down the garden, soaking up the sun and the dirt and my brain accessed the autopilot mode where I grow, which seemed fitting as I was in the garden. Just like that, you started to talk.
“You move too fast, I don’t know where you think you are going, but you move too fast. You know that if you slow down, you will get there just as fast”, you said.
I walked in silence with the vibration of the rototiller coming through my arms.
“Where do you think you are going so fast?” I was silent.
“Slow, slow life down. It isn’t where you are going, it’s the journey. Do you enjoy the walk? Do you enjoy the ride? Do you enjoy the path? You aren’t eating fruit for breakfast because you move too fast.”
I walked slowly behind the rototiller without words. “Slow down, cut up the fruit, take time to enjoy the fruit. It is sweet, like life. I don’t know where you think you are going so fast.”
Just like that, I saw you. I walked behind the rototiller with the sun washing my soul with light and I saw you, but really, I heard you.
