I felt fear ripple through my bark. Because cutting looks like destruction when you don't yet know or don't yet understand intention. The first branch fell dry, hollow, brittle with memories.
That once held leaves, but no longer held life. I wanted to scream. That was part of me.
But the keeper only whispered it was not anymore. Pruning is a sacred violence. The removal of what cannot continue so that what can has room to breathe.
Dead weight gone. Broken limbs released. Crowded growth thinned so sunlight could reach places I forgot were mine.
And in the open spaces air moved differently. Light touched deeper. Sap flowed freer.
I realized loss is sometimes nutrient. Each cut became a lesson. You are allowed to outgrow visions of yourself.
You are allowed to release what once protected you. You are allowed to change shape without losing identity. Because I was never the branches.
I was the living core. Seasons kept carving wisdom into me. Winter taught endurance.
Spring taught renewal. Summer taught generosity. Shade given freely to those that never asked my name.
Autumn, letting go can be beautiful when you trust return. And year after year rings formed inside me proof not of age but of survival. Now when storms come I do not panic.
I bend. I listen. I remember the depth beneath me.
Grounded doesn't mean unmoving. It means connected. If you lean against me today you might feel calm.
You might call it peace. But what you're really feeling is every storm I've ever lived through and chose not to become. You're feeling roots.
You're feeling pruning. You're feeling growth that required courage to release what was dead. I'm still reaching.
Still growing. Still becoming. Because enlightenment like a tree never finishes.
It only deepens. So if you must cut something away in your life do not fear the blade. Make space.
Light is waiting. And somewhere inside you new branches already know how to grow. When my phone almost crashed it means that it was okay.
Four claps again I think. I don't know. I think three.
Let's get it together. Let's hold on to our horses. That was beautiful.
