Grandmother Earth
I wonder if Gaia is in her crone stage now. Maybe she’s tired of trying to hold it all together for everyone. Is her wisdom is to lean back, slow down and let what may be, be? After so many years of being mistreated, misunderstood, used, abused and thrashed, maybe she’s done protecting us. Is her compassionate wrath to simply let us stew in our own making, in our own foul air and toxicity? Perhaps a natural response to our Frankenstein creations, experimenting with natural law, and creating things we have no business messing with. Genetic modification, food control, hormone, poor growing practices, factory runoff, pesticides- the list is long. Are we surprised that we’ve created a monster? We are stuck with the unsavoury meal we have created. At this point there is no escaping it.
What if we were to really look at this mess we're in, and really own it. Sit with the monstrosity without blaming anyone else, and from that place of acceptance, offer our hands, our minds, our hearts to her. Place our hands on her soil holding the knowing of her sacredness, giving our most sacred thoughts, words, and touch to her. Tapping into the root systems, the whispers of the leaves. Letting our tears fall on her flesh, blessing water with our prayers, an offering to her ground. Fallen sticks, leaves, dirt and rocks, like so many mini altars under her canopy. Each blade of grass a miracle to behold. At her feet we can hear the stories of our ancestors. Watch the ripples of the water that hold the memory of all time and experience.
These hands, they hold so much power. The way we hold a baby, or touch a small animal or someone we love. There is so much healing in this. We can learn to view our deepest flaws as sacred stories and unfolding. Holding the body as sacred begins to unfurl our innate potential. Each of us as innately whole offers a way to heal in often unexpected ways.
My son, an ever-inspiration, tells me to take two sticks and offer a blessing to the trees on our neighborhood walks. He gives them names and has conversations with them. Our friend, Wallace, is a mighty Linden. Ari says hi and has a little chat and then thanks him for offering us shade and being such a good friend. “Bye, Wallace! It was nice to see you! I hope I see you again soon! Have a good day!” It is the sweetest, most heart wrenching thing to witness. If only we could all be so wise. We offer mantras, sometimes songs, sometimes we just have a little chat, or place our hands on the trunk.
I had the honor of participating in traditional Sweat Lodge for many years. Our teacher told us the story of the strawberries many times. If you don’t thank them, they stop growing, he would say. That is why things die. We stop thanking them and giving them attention. One reason why traditional farming practices included song and dance ceremonies, to honor and thank the earth, the plants and the spirit of the crops.
We only need a word, a touch, a knowing, a thought to give back to her. Perhaps her hands are wrinkled with time, her hair shining silver, the crow wisdom imprinted around her eyes. I rest in her lap. I take comfort in her age, her knowing, her understanding, her wisdom and grace. I offer her tea, water blessed with saffron. I honor her sacredness and pour the grief from my heart. Thank you, Grandmother.
