Spring Fire

Let the Winds Carry Embers of Stories That No Longer Serve Us

In spiritual healing, what does it mean to let go of stories that no longer serve you?

Well, let me start with a story.

I moved back to my college town, Fort Collins, nearly nine years ago and quickly found myself tangled in grassroots efforts around mental health and other community-focused causes. Along the way, I learned who the ‘good guys’ were and who the ‘bad guys’ were—at least, according to the circles I was running in. And apparently, a lot of the ‘bad guys’ lived in Loveland.

So when a so-called good guy called a really good guy who then called me to help stir shit up, I thought, Huh. Isn’t THIS a funny little twist? I had spent years claiming I was allergic to this kind of thing, yet here I was, dipping a toe.

And then, just like that—I became the first person ever to be sued by the City of Loveland.

Case No. 0001. Them against me.

Actually, two of me. They decided to sue both me as a person and me as a business.

True story.

One moment, I was a (closet) activist with a (ok, I was super quiet tucked behind the scenes, but still...) cause.

The next, I was being deposed, forced to share intimate details of my life to defend myself against what felt like a most profound threat to my physical and emotional well-being. My body didn’t just register it as stress—I was AMPED. Even now, as I type this, my heart races just remembering.

Loveland became Hateland to me.

How sad is that?

And yet, as it turns out, the so-called good guy who set this whole thing in motion wasn’t so "good" after all. And the web of who-the-fuck-are-any-of-these-guys-anyway got so tangled and complex, I nearly lost my grip.

But here’s the thing: I didn’t lose it.

Instead, I found something else.

A campfire burning with glowing embers in the base.

Tonight, I will burn the old court papers in our first spring fire. I will watch the flames take what no longer serves me, page by page, turning pain into embers, letting smoke carry away the weight of what’s already gone.

Because now, I sit in my Loveland backyard—not Hateland.

This home-for-now is exactly where I’m meant to be. I am in the flight path of my spirit animal, the bald eagle. I live yards from a modest but kinda-sorta-flowing water source that feeds humans and animals and plant life—and my own damn soul.

My circle of humans here? MAGICAL.

The life unfolding before me?

Rooted in goodness.

Spring is springing with anticipation of what’s been germinating, seeded, and ready to GROW.

So I’ll ask you—what about you?

Is there a story you’ve been carrying that no longer serves you?

Is there something ready to be released to the fire, to be turned into nothing but warmth, light, and space for something new?