When you’re deeply sensitive, love is ecstasy. Music is godlike. Heartache is a wide, somatic wound. Visual natural beauty is jewel-drenched, wild bliss. Tension and conflict are muscle tightening and toxic, straight down to the cells. So how do you hold it all? You rinse, re-centre, and remain clear. You recycle your sensitivity by propelling yourself and others to create waves of change in a super starving world. Direct your passion by spreading your heart only across what clearly matters most. Surround yourself with the souls and spaces that groove alongside your own- the ones that also desire to chase the beauty, courage and freedom we’re all here to teach each other. Choose love over fear and let go of all the rest, breathing what isn’t best for you straight out of your bones. Remember-there is power in the body. Harness it for the greater good, and allow nothing confusing, peace disrupting, or hurtful stand in its way.

| Victoria Erickson

And yet, there is so much more that trees have to teach us about time itself. The first is that it’s circular. We grow not only taller, but wider—circles within circles, every iteration of ourselves contained within, written in the repetition of our rings. We grow both older and younger. The second is that there is a season for everything. Time passes both quickly and slowly, as does our growth. The third is that, like the years of a tree as reflected in its rings, time is defined by both the dark and the light. Without either, we would not be able to read its passage.

when virginia woolf wrote "i never seem to run out of tenderness for you" and vita sackville-west said "oh my dear, i can’t ever be clever and stand-offish with you: i love you too much for that. too truly." and girl in red sang "i will follow you home, although my lips are blue and i'm cold" and natasha ngan wrote "she makes me feel reappeared. reimagined. her touch shapes me, draws out the boldness that had been hiding in my core." and oh pep! sang "my baby talks at a mile a minute, she sings like a church with a choir in it" and audre lorde said "there is, for me, no difference between writing a good poem and moving into sunlight against the body of a woman i love."