Emotion slows enough to form
Like water whose movements freeze into crystalized ice we take shape for a moment, seemingly contained, yet waves break again as we remember how it feels to feel
In a dream I wear the shape of a woman but my insides are the waves of a sea
We are nothing less than the embodiment of our Selves
A Being is a drumming of rhythms (breath, lymph, cortisol, etc.) synchronized by the pumping of its blood
Our rhythms are born within the lubb-dubb of the Earth’s own heart
As we attune our dance to our Mother’s rhythm our own drumming entrains within Hers
To be whole is to taste our existence within Her heartbeat
As we dance in Her rhythm we may be offered a space (what sort of space varies) to exist with others as they listen for their own rhythm within Hers
This is Healing
We tone ourselves to subtle ways of existence. Vibrations we send out strum against those who hear and set the scales in which we dream our harmonies.
The strumming of a harp echoes off the face of a gray eyed sea, who coos into the tiny ear of a blue eyed infant. This song melts through the child’s heart to be cried back again to the tide.
We are ourselves yet of like substance with those tethers that hold us close. Love nurtured vines grow in moments of pause, scattered rhythmically within the always moving waves, to wrap their arms around us, whispering of promises already kept & reminding of the wholeness in which we dance.
Why is there such an impulse to place more value on suffering than on joy? Is it truly nobler to carry tragedy on our backs than to laugh? Dance! I’m told. And with this dance lift the pieces of mourning (yes, of course there’s much to mourn) and spin them into something joyful.
The space of the Fool is a sacred one. A Fool’s prayer: May I feel boldly!
Although the tides are always changing the Sea remains, in Truth, truly herself. Be as the sea, daughter, speak in Love and be free.
The ocean reminded me that my body rests on a living sphere of Love. The sand underneath my back is a cradle and the wind wraps mitten like around my fingers. Waves carry rhythms to my heart and the world dances while I lie still, for just a moment in space, quiet.
To remember our tones are most clear when sung from a place of Love.
It seems when we speak from our own pain the songs of others are too hard to hear and fall away as forgotten things, separate and alone.
In my heart I would see our fears, insecurities, old wounds, and terrors, melt as tears into our Mother’s hands.
I would see in my eyes demons transformed into children of Light and humanity remember her Beauty.
For me there is no longer a choice. Each breath is a commitment to this place, this world, this time, these children of our Mother. Each breath is a commitment to Love.
And so I breathe.