13 February 2009

writing 3- Arizona- Sing to the Mountain

Simply put, The Land wants be Sung to. Actually, the land wants to be saturated in Song. I fact, She Needs it. If you can wrap your mind round such a thing.
The land offered what felt like much information, and yet, none at all. But I heard nothing until I sang, " Ancient mother I hear you calling, ancient mother I hear your call..." (I learned this song at the wise woman center, the home of my teacher, susun weed- check her site for info, it might be there)
I was only offering a humble thanks for being able to experience being there, enwrapped in a landscape so strikingly dissimilar from my own at home. It was shortly after that I caught a glimpse of the First Stone- a Yoni Rock. It is the second stone that helped by offering much information to my intuitive senses about the land that I was now leaving. That ancient peoples used to gather in these mountains, to celebrate and sing and dance in sacred ceremony, giving thanks to the land for Her role in their lives out in the high desert. But the land and the circumstances of people's lives had made it so that the people do not remember that they had agreed to sing to the land, to give thanks to Her. They have forgotten Her, as their lives have moved more and deeper into the cities.
The connection with the mountain and the voice of the Stone People stayed with me all along the highway from the sacred mountain into the city.

It is a connection that in only hours becomes muted by cars, busses, buildings- mostly cars, here. What would happen if everyone gathered around that mountain that encircles the city- and Sung? I wonder- would the water issues they face be healed? Would a solution to the energy issues be realized? What kind of shift could they affect?

musing perspective

Backing up. Backing off.
Drawing back.
Isn't that what perspective really is?
"Drawing back"
Think about those two words,
and imagine the physical sensation 
of doing just that.

I recently relearned that Perspective as an artist's tool 
manifested during the Renaissance in Europe (1300-1600's).
This technique of being able to draw a scene back
enabled the artist to reveal life 
as it was actually being seen and experienced .

As the Artist of one's own Life,
an individual may employ the technique of Perspective- 
to draw back, see the whole view 
a much widened scene 
find the places that need more red, less blue
some more texture or some of the layers scraped off.

I kept asking myself, 
after I'd set out on a long journey from home,
everything so strange and foreign,
"Why have I come here?"
thank G-d I remembered.

05 February 2009

Church of the Sacred Earth, Grows and moves with the Flow

Hello Everyone,
This concept of the church of the Sacred Earth has been growing inside of me for nine years, now. Too long my mind thinks, but for the better, as what I see and perceive is that Church of the sacred Earth is not the kind of church that is housed in a Place, a specific locale. Church of the Sacred is in Many locales- because, among other things, Church of the Sacred Earth is a Movement. It moves with the Energies, across the Land, across the Universes and the Tierra of each creature and human landscapes. It can not be "Incorporated", or assigned a tax ID number. It can not be Contained.

Wherever two or more people can gather, in silence or in whatever manner they can mutually agree, to listen to the earth speak- and to send their individual & collected vibrations of love to the earth.

More to come, as 2009 unfolds.

If you love the earth and have some leanings toward earth-based spirituality and want to talk more about Church of the Sacred Earth Gatherings, and what you can do to help, write to the e-mail address above (sacred_earth@yahoo.com).
I would love to hear about your love connections with the Earth.
Green Blessings.

February 10, 2009- a blog is now posted:
where news and information that I have specific
to Church of the Sacred Earth can be found

04 February 2009

writing 2- Arizona- once to the cave, pools of water

It was in the cave that I started to feel a presence. I'd had some moments alone and of silence to feel the land, to be with the environment that I found myself in. So, perhaps i was tuning in a bit to her, to what spirits could be shifting amongst the barrels and prickly pears.
Yes, the cave. I turned immediately around upon entering, and sat on one of several large rocks that were positioned inside the two small tiers of the enclosure.
The Valley lay spread back into the distance. I liked that, the cave as my environment, and the city as the far backdrop.* (*reference to the notion that many humans have that Nature is merely a backdrop to human existence) The positioning of the sacred womb was of course no accident above two pools of water that run underground nearly after they seem to spill forth from the darkness of the cave area.
I had a deep urge that sprang forth through my left arm, that I needed to spend the night in that cave, that something wanted to speak to me, give me a message, or a vision.
These are themes that can be visited only in brief, when in the company of hiking companions. Feeling such a draw to spend time in this place intrigued me as I loosened my energies from the area and continued the hike with my friend and son, back down the rocky hills toward the parking area at trailhead. Hiking down, without the physical elements associated with the climbing up, is a different experience- one in which i was more able to See: the landscapes, in all they showed me, as the trail hugged canyon walls and turned opening into fresh views of the valleys and chains of mountains that surrounded the city. What was it about the city that cut off the vibrations of the beings that embraced this spreading metropolis?

I felt so much gratitude for every inch of foreign landscape that my dreaming eyes saw. My son races ahead to keep up more with our friend. I move slowly, drinking the azure sky in with my breath- I am drinking in
Blue Sky, and spiny cactus- it is maybe one hundred years old. It is maybe two. Each arm, my friend says, he heard, takes seventy five years to grow that big. So maybe the cactus is really almost two hundred. But I am thanking someone that I had the courage to fly out and experience this. But the city, the city is so cut off from this. Why isn't the vibe making it into the city? Now I understand how they are so cut off from Her. I had forgotten how it felt to live in a city.

So, as we are getting toward the bottom, sill with a ways to go, but we have neared the gate we had to go through to start really getting up on the trail- and I decide to sing to her, to thank her for being able to experience being with Her, and i do even though I feel evenly: a bit shy about others hearing and a little rebellious, like people should hear this song and remember to be grateful, or just a little more open to Her Energies as a sure Living entity- not just a backdrop....

Writing 1- Arizona- up the mountain to the first pool

Now I remember that's what I came here for- for the perspective to see what needs to be done with my life at home. I got a lot of information on the descent from our hike on Friday afternoon. But she first needed to hear the song, my song, a gift to her. And I thought that I could feel nothing of a presence as we ascended. Merely climbing, to keep my hiking companion within some sight, and enough to know that my son was still on the trail behind. Superstition mountain, Heiroglyph Canyon. Cragged rock, a trail run smooth into it, rising high above, the city to the west. The land seems to spread, allows distance, immersion into silence. The chit chat of random hikers passing is a nuisance- I want to be alone with her in the silence. I know she wants to talk with me, at least I wish she would. Hundred year old saguros lean back from us as we pass. I feel determined to keep the breath at my crown, and walk without thinking, for there is a cave near the summit that awaits.
All "3-and-some-feet" of my son is complaining every ten minutes or so, now he is finally sweaty enough to sacrifice the cap that shields his face from the "damn sun" in his face, and now I must wear it. The heavy sweat he left on the brow now sits cold and clammy on my own.
The trail narrows and becomes steep on the right as it levels down toward the left, to a shelf between walls that houses the first pool of water. It is a heavenly dream, miracle, oasis. We do not drink the water, but run our cupped hands across the surface of it, remove socks and lightly splash toes and balls of feet in it. It is cold and welcome. The ancient pictures in the rock are to our backs, high above on the wall without the trail. Looking up we see the water trickling down from over another rock. I do not know what is above that rock or where the water is coming from or what it looks like. For a long while I sat and did not think of it, even after my companions moved on to the higher and further grounds of the trail.
For some moments- a few, I could hear only the water spirits, the wind spirits and the chip of a winged one.

what does it mean to spend a year in silence when you are an herbalist...step "0"

I tried last year. I tried. I wanted to harvest. I wanted to make my succulent jams, jellies and apple butters. I wanted to... But I couldn't. One could say that my heart wasn't into it, but I am not sure which part of me it was because there was sho' nuf from within urging me to press on, and continue as i have done for nearly seventeen years- harvest. Make tinctures. Craft oils and then salves. Brew a batch of beer and wine or a few. And the coltsfoot came up, and I was ready to... stop. Stop doing. To be. To breathe with the plants. I did not lay hands to the garden outside my apartment. I watched. I watched the garden. And I learned to watch the feelings of gnawing guilt that swelled inside, like tidal waves, for they would subside, because I was not working the land, or making my jellies, or so...

If anyone should ask why I had not planted anything this year, I would say that I needed to see what the garden would do when left to its own. In fact, it felt like a mandate from the Earth Herself. I let my 
underarm hair grow, and all of the other hairs women are "supposed" to shave. Wild like my garden. We are seeing what we look like without the influence of man's hand.
Perhaps I am becoming more acquainted with the words of my twenty five year old soul: "I am Woman Wild, like the Weeds that grow, i spread my lovin' all around. To hear my Song, you must go low- send your Roots into the Ground." (copyright Rev. Ursula Carrie Wilkerson 1997-2009)

Quiet observation of the garden, giving a nod to my green allies when we pass.

How this year of "doing nothing" (step 0 in the Six Steps of Healing in our Wise Woman Tradition of Healing) informed my relationship with the Earth, with my work with the Earth? How shall i use the value of stillness, and not chugging on with the doing?

Of this, I inhale deeply- and I suppose we shall see.
We shall see.