I want to write about a bird, but I don't know where to begin. It's a robin. She lives right behind our house. My girlfriend talks to her every day. They're friends now, she says. I believe her. I look in my girlfriend's eyes and I believe she has a new friend. My girlfriend speaks a language of beauty. It's a language birds can understand with the most joyful ease.
I want to write about a bird, this little bird living behind our house, and her new friend, my girlfriend. I want to write how much I think it matters, this friendship. How utterly important I think it is. How much the future of our kids depends on such a friendship. Our future, the future of this blue marble we happen to live on. I want to write about the endless celebration I feel inside, the rejoicing waterfall of relief and recognition, the gratefulness. The gratefulness. A friendship between a human being and a bird.
That's what I want to write about. But I thought I didn't know how. Neither did my girlfriend. Nor the bird. And then we saw what was here all along.
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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