I first posted this in 2020. Nothing has changed, really. --- My spirituality has been a meandering path, from growing up in a Christian household and leaving the church at 12 to where I'm now. I did a lot of searching to find what I already knew as a child. Here are the stories that led me to this realisation. Story 1, circa 1971 Somewhere in the house is a picture that was taken during that summer on one of my family's Sunday afternoon walks. The picture is of a little Sylvia with long blonde curls, wearing a poncho her grandmother crocheted for her, inhaling the scent of a rose, gently holding its stem. The joy on my face beams through that picture. Now I know it is one of the clearest depictions of my spirituality. Story 2, Ireland circa 2001 A couple of months after serious abdominal surgery, I felt completely uprooted. I knew that I had to get my mojo back, and, after Ireland kept showing up in my dreams, I decided I would travel there alone. I booked a flight, and landed in Dublin without any plans. After I checked in to my hotel, I walked through the city and stumbled into one of the tourist information centers. I learned that the next day they'd organise a bus tour of a castle near Dublin. The castle looked so great on the pictures and I decided to book the trip. I didn't know why, but it felt like the same pull that got me to Ireland. The bus left early the next morning, and I was so excited. The lover of medieval buildings in me would get to see a medieval castle, and I was certain that this would be the highlight of the day. I don't even remember the castle. You see, I met a tree. The bus stopped at a parking lot of a large store and restaurant for lunch, and, as I had brought my own lunch, and the weather was lovely, I decided to find a place outside to sit. I exited the bus, and there she was; an impossibly tall tree, rising up to the sky, effortless. I was stunned. I walked up to her and saw a sign that said it was a Sequoia. I was completely flabbergasted. To my knowledge, sequoia's only grew in California. I walked up to her and sat down between her roots. I closed my eyes as I leaned back into her rough skin, breathing deep. Then I looked up into her crown and imagined my sadness floating up through the branches. I had't ever felt a silence like I felt at that moment, even though the parking lot was nearby and busloads of tourists were dropped off. I just sat there, perfectly still, my hands resting next to me on the soil, palms up. And then, a piece of bark fell off, right into my open hand. I can't describe what I felt in that moment. Gratitude is the only word that comes close. I carefully wrapped the piece of bark in the paper I'd wrapped my sandwiches in, stood up, placed my hands on the tree in thanks, and walked away, feeling infinitely lighter. Story 3, February 2020 I am writing in the early morning, sitting up in bed with my large rose quartz palm stone resting on my chest. I'm smiling. Writing this has made me remember what my spirituality is. It's nature. It's a deep connectedness that moves with the seasons and is filled with all the rawness of life. It moves like the sea does, sometimes calm, sometimes tempestuous, but always forces me to be in the moment. Present. This also explains why I have felt so disconnected from my spirituality these past few years. I was in recovery for most of them and didn't have the energy to reconnect. I also didn't realise how important connecting with nature was until I sat down to write (and now re-read) this. I'm very grateful that I can soon stop and smell the roses again.