A Note On Growth


It is most often painful.

New parts of you sprouting from once smooth,


impenetrable surfaces.

Growth is violent. It breaks what once was. It is a rupture of structures, of surfaces, of composition and plans. Growth is violence, but not all violence is bad.

Unless of course, you’d rather be the seed than the Sequoia; thinking and knowing nothing of the world but the cold, damp comfort of the underground, never knowing the heat of light, the beauty of leaves and your powerful role in the ecosystem of the living.

to grow is to


beyond and above

the station you were given.






accumulation of things deemed valuable by those around you, sometimes you are growing to see beyond them too, for you, I hope this is true.

I am growing, here, in the winter. My tears water the roots I thought I was losing. Waking, day after night, dew after dusk, I recalled that your roots never leave you, no matter how fast, far or violently you sprout. You belong to them, as they belong to you. They give you per and mission to stand, to tower, to receive light to bring back to the earth

the deep



from where you are now. not because you are better, stronger or wiser, but because you have access; given and birthed from the collective pool and pull of the roots, Sequoia


the sun

lest you be

distracted by



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