My Wild Self

She lives in a treehouse. Her name is Heather.

While she lays on the hardwood floorboards, she listens to the river wash through each crevice in the trees. Her imagination soars without holding on too tightly to outcomes or adventures that have to be proven.

She is someone who wants to be known yet she is just as content if no one asks. She finds herself interesting, the world around her fascinating, perpetually in a state of curiously watching for the next new dandelion seed floating by or the branch of a tree bobbing on top of the mild rapids. She excitedly pursues where the high winds blowing through her mind will lead her next. 

She is filled with new beginnings and things yet to be uncovered in the heart. She lives in the blooms of unusual and delicate flowers.

She has many stories of how she came to be and stories that unfold who she will become. Her thoughts are her creation and liberation, even though she has tried many times to escape them or throw them into the Universal Fire, handing over the chaos to someone else, somewhere else, who she’s thought could handle them much better.

She dreams of a romantic and precious life. She strives to bring heaven to earth by caressing each petal or brushing her hair gently at just the right angle.  She doesn’t push herself too hard, knowing she has all the time in the world, yet she has a message that pounds in the middle of her chest, hoping some are sensitive enough to listen.

She knows at the core that an art-full life holds much sweetness in that humming. She remembers the journeys of her joys--captures them, weaves them, allows them to become part of her Creation. She says it is possible to have a sense of humour, to be daring, quirky and bold at the same time.

She does not need to save the world through her voice. Rather she creates magic in her every day showing that Life can be filled with wonder by perpetually birthing inspiration.