This weeks post was inspired by week three prompts from A Year With Myself

I love trees.  They are so beautiful with their branches reaching up and out to their surroundings, to the sky.  Yet they are totally grounded. Literally.  Their roots stretch far and wide seeking out nourishment and providing so many benefits as well.  They have a symbiotic relationship with some fungi.  Their roots become the complex structures of underground homes.  Their branches homes for many to live and grow.

I love trees and what they stand for.  To me they symbolize the way we are all so intricately connected in this world. How we have the potential to nurture each other, inspire each other and make a difference in the lives of others and in doing so our lives are touched.  Connected and intertwined like the roots of a tree.

As long as I can remember, I remember the feeling of connection I experienced when listening to my friends as they spoke of their worries.  For it wasn’t just that they had a need that I met, but the other part of the equation was that my need to be connected and experienced as helpful was also met.  And so my story began, back then in those early years where I did much listening.  My meaning came into being.

Later I expanded my roots, digging deeper, reaching out further. I began to offer stories, play and guidance through art. It seemed a natural progression from my love of creating new things.  And then I uncovered how far my roots reached and were intertwined with the roots of my ancestors.  I came to know some of my roots through the stories that my father told me.  And in hearing these stories I felt more and more connected to what I was doing.

I know a little bit about some of  my roots.  My father is from Denmark,  where he grew up with his parents and 4 siblings: 3 brothers and one sister. His mother, my grandmother, who I never actually met, was a healer and a story-teller.  Her name was Petrea.  I was named after her at my mother’s wish.  Apparently my two sisters before me were suppose to be named Petrea but somehow the name was saved for me.  My grandmother and grandfather were natural health practitioners, healers who were well-respected in their community.  My father used to tell me about how his mother was such a great story-teller that people from all around the community would come to listen.

When I think of this my roots feel quenched. I feel like that a part of my gandmother lives on in me.  Long before I knew these stories of my grandmother I was drawn to using play, story and art for healing with my clients  When I did connect with my roots, my story became strengthened, my trunk grounded.  Life’s wisdom carried through these roots.  Roots which have stretched so far and deep.

And while I know what I do is still uniquely me there is something reassuring about knowing that somewhere in my lineage there is this connection. A connection to tribe, to healing that extends beyond me.  Everyday new connections are made, and new roots grow as I venture out and connect in other ways.

How about you? Do you feel  connection to your ancient roots? Do you see the new roots that you have put out into the world and connections that have been created?
What are the branches that extend from you into the world?

Journal Prompt: Continue this sentence writing whatever comes to mind for about 10 minutes. My roots extend far and wide connecting to the past and the present . . .