If you've ever walked through the land after a wildfire has swept through it you've seen the miracle of how quickly new growths begin. I was astonished by the contrast between the lushness of the new green growth amidst the charred and blackened remains of the forest. How incredible that such distinct environments exist side by side. And how they support one another. The natural environment so powerfully illuminates what is possible in this experience of being human. Each and every day we exist with what is clearly in our consciousness- the elements of ourselves that we and most everyone else is aware of and can see. And, we exist with all that we keep hidden and all that we are unaware of that exists within us. We do our best to live most days like the green lush growth, trying our best to survive and thrive. And alongside that is always the parts of ourselves that we hold more privately - our vulnerabilities, our fears and worries, our weaknesses and our traumas, and all that we don't yet know about ourselves. This is our shadow side. Like the charred forest, our shadow seems lifeless and yet, within it is an abundance of potentiality and growth.

We live our lush green aliveness and our charred darkness all of the time. Nature can teach us that both are needed for our survival, our re-growth, and our capacity to thrive.

I have this favorite 6km stretch of beach on the east coast of South Africa. I love to run there at low tide and as I run, I keep my eyes open for pansy shells. They can be found just after high tide in the wet sand at the shoreline where the waves crash onto the beach. Given that pansy shells are so fragile they are often broken into smaller pieces. At one point I noticed that I was in search of only the perfectly whole pansy shell. When I’d find a whole one I’d feel incredibly fortunate because they are exquisite and unique to this area. However, I often found half broken pansy shells and most often, I would walk by. One morning, as I glanced a broken one and continued to walk, I turned back. It occurred to me that beauty isn’t only in the perfectly whole ones, it’s also in the broken ones. And that this is quite possibly a metaphor for our lives. Isn’t it essential that we reflect on the pieces that make up the whole? And that if we did that more often, we might find ways to bring the pieces together?

Isn’t the truth that there is far more that is broken than there is whole? I’m curious about why we seem uncomfortable with this and how we might allow ourselves to accept that most of our lives are disrupted, broken or interrupted pieces that are valuable in their parts and also in their coming together as a whole.