my commute, Colville National Forest, Nov 2016

these are her mountains and skies and
she radiates
and through history’s rivers of blood
she regenerates
and like the sun disappears only to reappear
Maria, she’s eternally here
her time is near
never conquered but here
— Rage Against the Machine “Maria”

my feet refused shoes as I walked from my camp chair to my yoga towel in the warm November sun, the sun that had me happily confused by its permeating warmth. when left with a few hours alone while Rumi was with a sitter I followed the molting tamarack and solitary snowberry up a closed crushed-granite forest service road to the third bend where it benches out and faces southwest. yesterday with my writing I wanted to bask in the warmth of the afternoon, the feeling of rightness I have here.

the other day I ran myself silly on this closed road. today my sacrum begged me to come, sit closer to the earth so I planted my butt directly on the cool autumn ground. husks of knapweed bowed over my page. Raven made her bright cry. a winged songmaker dipped ki’s* way across the small cleft that holds the stream I never knew was here. it is so still here that I could hear ki beat ki’s wings in a soft whump whump. I am as much a snowberry as I am a moose a raven a fly the dirt (I’ve slowed down enough to see that ki is alive, too) the wind a mushroom or a human. we have so many options and most of them veer sharply from the secular, sterile, disembodied life of the city. I am planted in the earth these days.

I remember turning my back on the sunrise each morning on my commute in to work from the mountains. deeply out of integrity with my values it ached like I was leaving behind a beloved child each morning who would certainly accomplish something remarkable while I was gone. there was some part in me that thought I HAD to do what I did, that I NEEDED the money or the path that was externally created for me. I had no idea the meaning of a dollar in its energetic form.

now as I recalibrate the meaning of work, the meaning of purpose, I find that plea quelled in some respects. the voice that always urged me closer, closer, closer to the earth no longer does so with such frustrated fervency. now the voice is soft, she knows I am never far from the broader body and that I’ll readily heed her request.

I urge you to re-member yourself in the earth and by so doing plant yourself in the infinite body we all share. re-member the sacredness of this mother body, the giver, the one the scared of us try to tamp down, the immutable, the resilient feminine.


* As suggested by Robin Wall Kimmerer I have adopted a new pronoun for nature.