Offerings to the ones who tend her. . .
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My internal compass is more an ever-spiraling living being than a straight arrow North; direction in any form has been hard to swallow. But I resisted, tried to change to fit what I saw as a weakness, even took a class on compass use and reading maps to no avail.
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So many times I have found myself completely lost, and I used to panic or spend time trying to get out of the discomfort; and now when I get to that place, I ask what it is that’s being revealed. Everything is alive and calling, and yet we mostly turn it off or turn away from the conversation revealing itself.
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This time I was lost in a pine forest, and suddenly came out to a giant clear cut landscape of stumps. It was like a swift blow to the chest from this glowing verdant breathing place to stumps in mud in a grey soup. I felt the fear and resolve of the still standing trees, and the next day someone told me that in Ireland there are huge corporations, effectively destroying the ancient peat bogs, planting pine once they’ve been cleared, and then cutting it all down, taking the traditional and honorable harvest relationship from the people and land that’s existed for thousands of years and commoditizing it; selling “Irish peat” in our local Walmart.
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A story we know, one that’s echoing across the world; and in this place we live now, dotted with fracking wells.
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It’s been easy for some of us to eat/do/live in ways that keep us on course going on the well-marked paths of our design—or rather the ones we’ve been given, but the call to get lost and listen, attuned to the heart that beats us...that call is blooming from every corner, every moment, every tree and plant and stone.
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And there’s an infinite amount we can offer up to heed it, starting with even a small adjustment, and then another and another.
