The crows came by this evening. The seagulls, too. Alone and together, side by side, they brought with them a seremony of black and white above my home, reaching down to me with their song. Together and alone. I was their feet. They were my wings. And in the sacred fire that flamed up between us I witnessed my own death. With open eyes and a tired heart I walked into the flames to be transformed into ashes and dust, ashes and dust. And so I could rise up and become the sky, I could greet the wind as she made me hers, I could slowly dissolve as I watched the birth of my new self on the ground, a naked body embraced by his mother, the grass. The soil. The earth.
I bow my head to the crows and the seagulls, to their piercing hymn for the end of all things and their humble insistence on new life, new life.
Thank you East. Thank you South. Thank you West. Thank you North.
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/mary bailey)