If you and I were outside right now, we could take some steps in the wet grass. Small steps at first, shy steps. Then, slowly, slowly, by letting the rain go first, our very own movements could start to show. Only you and I would move like that on the wet grass, as were we made for it, as were we parts of a story already written. And so we would move and move and fall into a familiar rythm, and the trees would humm as they formed a circle around us. Supported by all that we know from the deepest moments of our dreams, we would throw our heads back and let our hands be lifted towards the sky in pure joy and ardor. For as we moved and the movement moved us, slowly, slowly, would we begin to remember who we are and always were. All it takes, my exquisite friend, is some small, shy steps. If you and I were outside right now, we could take them. Then, slowly, slowly, by letting the rain go first, our very own movements could start to show.
This is a calling to slow down and listen. To take a deep breath and explore our personal connection with Mother Earth. The feminine and masculine, the beautiful and dirty, the real, the messy, the sacred. Once it was natural. Today it feels crucial.
For the next 100 Days I will write a book to the Earth. For the Earth. With the Earth. The book, and the journey, is also to you. For you. And with you. Together, we are everything.
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(Photo: Flickr/CC/Nathan O'Nions)