The growing wish to sink down through every layer. To fall naked to the ground, to meet the arc of our story with a shivering yes, smeared in mud and held by roots. I sing for you, a praising song to all the mothers behind you. A humble song, where I bow my head to everything you are.
And then we dance.
Only the night can hold a sacred space like this. Our claws force their way out through the flesh of our fingers as our bodies coil their way into a rythm only bodies know. Your skin like the dark sea, I swim on your waves and taste the salt from your blood. It is not dangerous, it is how we were born, it is nature crying out for us to return, it is a rewilding, a rapturing breath, a growl and a howl and a shattering past.
We trust, we trust, we trust. And we turn to the earth and she turns to us. It is stunning, this dance, trembling and close. We are deep inside of it and then we are out, but it never ends when it first begins. It is close. And we are open. It is a dance. And we are danced.
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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