Ode to Dusk Falling in the Forest
11th July 2019
After goodbye-drinks with new-found friends in the Auvergne a few days ago, it was still early, my head restless, my thoughts somewhat melancholy, and I decided to go for a walk. I can’t stress enough the importance of late night walks. Turns out that nights in the forest bring about all kinds of poetic thoughts…
Go for a long walk at the fall of dusk.
Don’t listen to music, or podcasts, or other people’s voices.
Listen to your steps fall firmly onto the soft ground.
Listen to the answers come to you as you invite silence in.
Listen to the imaginary conversations unfold in your head, you know the kind you used to have as a teenager when your parents sent you to bed earlier than you would have liked and you lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, talking in your mind through all the possible scenarios of your life: the flirts you’d have with your latest crush, how you’d stand up to your father who upset you; how your mom, who had left a long time ago, would come back and assure you she’d always loved you; the kind of imaginary conversations where everyone gave the right answers and how these answers weren’t always the obvious ones, the easy ones, but instead those that would allow you to be the bigger person, the serene yet assertive bad-ass you secretly aspired to be, even if you sometimes doubted that you ever could be.
Go for that late night walk and have those talks – practice them, for you never know which ones of them will become reality, and let me assure you, the quota goes up the more you practice, as with anything you train.
Talk to your lover, your lover to be, your past and future self, your father, your best friend, the one you lost over a fight, the little girl you met in the street the other day, to God if you will as if he was that old bearded chap you believed him to be, once upon a long forgotten time, and talking to him came easy, with no connotations, no worries, no guilt and no strings attached. Or talk to the universe if you prefer today. To mother earth or the stars as you lie on your back on top of that mountain you climbed, and tell them your worries while you admire the infinite, all-encompassing beauty.
But most of all, go on that walk to hold space: for yourself, for the one you want to become, for the answers to come to you and for the people in your life to realise their highest potential, whatever that may entail and whether you like it or not.
Don’t hold expectations. Simply hold space, to allow in all that already is real, in those imaginary talks, in those moments in between in a forest at dusk.
Hold space for life to happen.
Go for that walk.
Go to bed early just to look at the ceiling – no agenda, no pressure to fall asleep.
Make space for your mind to wander, your soul to explore, your heart to rejoice and your body to heal.
P.S.: Handstands on the road will be back soon with more stories about handstands, hikes and travels – currently hanging out near Montpellier at the beach with above mentioned cracked rib, going a little stir-crazy and doing all the stretching instead of conditioning at the moment.