Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. 

To lend your power.

July 28, 2016

 

When I don't know what else to do, when I feel fizzy and electric and as though I'm going to self-destruct from circuit overload, I lie on the earth. I put myself out there with the elements and the stones, the mosquitoes and the birds, the rain and the sun, the salt and sugar of the grass, and I just pour myself away. I remember that I am earth--minerals and dust, salt and sugars, blood and rain, microbes and metal. I remember that she's been around a heck of a long time and probably seen a million things worse that whatever it is in my head at the moment, so I just give it to her. All of it. She's offered to take it. 

 

And I let that age and that wisdom, that beauty and that pain all pour back in, channeled as only true gifts of wisdom and strength can be, and I get up. I remember that we are the same, she and I, and thank the goddess for it. That earth is always there--in office buildings, in cities, on interstates, in school, in bed in the middle of a sleepless night. She's there and all you have to do is remember to get up and get out the door. 


Take off your shoes; this is not the time or the space to protect yourself from current, from conduction. Ground down to rise up. 

 

 

 

 

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