Truth & Bold

Morning Walk Reflections 2.24.25

There are times that certain words come forward demanding my attention. For the past couple weeks, the word has been "truth." And then this morning, I was awoken—perhaps from a dream—to someone coughing the word, almost barking: "BOLD." This subconscious voice harnessed my attention, and as I set out on my morning walk, the words "truth" and "bold" seemed to be in some kind of dance—fluid like champion ice skaters, swirling, twirling, holding, partnering. Yes, that's it—partnering.

As I walked past a boulder next to the middle lake this morning, one that lines Marsh Creek, I caught this image of criss-crossing hibernating vines iced with sparkly dew, creating intricate patterns—intersections and relationships. Truth and bold, bold and truth, up and under, under and up, repeat...

Truth. What is truth? How do we know what is truth? So many seem to speak with such certainties and with such confidence of certitude. I have always found this off-putting, but especially now. Much of what we know to be "true" comes from outside of us—sources, scientists, news, friends, you name it. At our best, we are critical thinking filters that bring in material and then allow it to run through layers of filtration to tease out some resemblance of "truth." Whatever that may mean in this fast-paced, chaotic world we live in, where time to process or digest isn't really allowed, definitely not encouraged. React, react, react. Defend, defend, defend. See the bass notes.

When I am in nature, I know this for sure: Nature doesn't lie. I can trust my experiences, observations, and relationships in the wild. When I remember I am part of the wild, a kin, I can sink into a different kind of truth. These moments become my foundation, my tether to some peace. If you sit or walk or even just look out a window for a small period of time, you will witness truth. Squirrels have no agenda, trees don't try to contort anything to their benefit, birds don't tweet false warnings—this is a stark contrast to our silly human behaviors. I wonder what they must think of our ways of being in relationship to the truth. Perhaps truth has no meaning to species who simply live it?

Truth feels like it wants to swirl with bold right now—like a candy cane, a DQ chocolate/vanilla ice cream cone, a barber pole. For so long I have thought: allow your truths to be small, quiet, lived. But right now, it feels like truth is asking for a more bold place in our conversations and world. But my mind goes back to, what is truth?

I return to this: nature doesn't lie.

Perhaps that is what I am hearing, a Bold Truth—Nature never lies.

I will continue my walks, my communions and conversations with nature. I will take my heart and worries to the land and listen for truth. As Princess Leia said to Obi-Wan (with my ecological adaptation): "Help us Mother Nature, you are our only hope."

May the force be with you friends,

xx, Victoria