Messages from nature: Days 1-11 (part 1 of 3)
Day 1
Her mood changes daily.
Some days she is raging, crashing
Charging up the shoreline
Bigger, taller, demanding.
Other moments she is gentle.
Continual rhythmic motions
Ice cold, in this part of the world
Slowness
An invitation to enter
And cleanse.
Some days she is completely still.
Resembling something else, almost
Her waves nonexistent
She is Resting
There is always an in between
Clear liquid drops
Of moonlight
All of her moods
Ask for reverence
The original
Home of all beings
She moves around obstacles
Licking them away
Seducing them into shifting
Shapes
Or she carries them in her arms
Depositing them somewhere
Else
She will relax you, exhilarate you
Or kill you
She does not feel one way or another
about her different
Options
All the water in my body activates, hearing her
Quite tempting
Her pull
Quite painful to open
To
Pure beauty
She comes closer and closer
Asking
Will you feel me
All I want is to be felt by you
The fairies dance around her droplets
Each splash of foam a
Temporary stage
Clear, rippling
Beauty
Mysterious light
soul
_____
I am beginning a new project.
33 days of messages from nature.
A practice of devotion, of opening,
of sharing with you what she wants me to share.
Day 2
Let me show you, the way I wish I could have shown myself.
Let me show you the way the raspberry leaves are brown, are torn in spaces.
The way the trees grow lumps to
protect themselves
The way the wings of the
crow
are a bit
ragged
The way the ocean washes up
fish bones
The way the eagle comes down on call, to eat the days-old carcass of a chicken.
The way the flower petals wither
and rot
The way the clouds cover the sunrise, so
there is none
The way the moon disappears and then
comes back
The way some berries are plump, vibrant.
And others are shriveled, dried out
Dead
Tree corpses, floating along the waves
I wish I could have shown myself – look
here, this leaf has speckles, just like your
skin
Do you think it is less than the others? Or
does it add something, something you
don’t quite
Get
From the bouquet at the grocery store
I wish I could have said, your naked body
is as magnificent as this
Tumbling, covered in mud, bitten by
mosquitoes.
But now we know. And there is no
returning
Just a breath, allowing it in.
Day 3
Sit here, he says, take refuge from the wind.
I am bleeding. Touch my pussy directly to
the earth. Lay my head on him.
Stability.
Comfort.
The ability to stay perfectly still, in all
storms.
I gaze at the cracks. Tiny pieces of fungi,
growing on something that is seemingly
not alive.
I tell him that people do not consider him
alive.
He laughs, voice booming through my
body
You tell me, he chuckles. Not alive??
The moss titters
I can feel his presence, I tell him. I know he
is alive
He has been shaped by the ocean. Slowly
molded, gently over time, following her
desire
This morning she was ferocious. Wind and
pouring rain, waves crashing
Right now she is gentler. The sun is its full,
unabashed self.
Regardless of her moods, he is steady. But
her presence changes him.
Really, he reminds me, she is held in place,
supported by him.
He feels a bit lonely, he says. People walk
by every day, no one says hello
I tell him I thought he’d have more
philosophical things to say
He chuckles, again. Sends me images of
glaciers, ice sheets, earth before people.
The breaking apart of land
He is not fazed by me. He will be here
after all of us are gone.
What he wants me to remember is his
laughter
Day 4
It creates absolute silence.
A black
looking-glass of
floating leaves
Trees, suspended half
in water.
All of these trees grow here. Their roots
submerged, bottom halves wet
At all times
No humans can touch here
It cannot be walked upon
Floated through
Or swum
A murky dark
Depth uncertain
Eerily still
It says: rot
No one would dare touch it
And it is flat
Perfectly mirroring
What’s up above.
Here and there
Are drops, ripples
But never a clue for what
causes it
I say hello it says
Welcome
A vast
You see in me what you
want to see
If there was a portal
it is here
It hosts endless
possibilities
Home of many
things
But no mother energy
Just an open empty
channel
Dead and alive
It wants to know why I came
Why did you come
To hear what you had to say
Silence
You see what you are
And the wind comes through
The water flickers
creating the illusion of movement on
the surface.
You do not enter unless
You really
really want it
It seems like it comes at a price, I say
Yes
You will not
get
something here
It says
This is a place of openings
Of in between
Stay too long you might
never leave
Day 5
Warts and moles and grounds below
A home for many things
Berries and leaves and fried krispies grow
Rounds and rounds of swings
Is nonsense a rule or is it just for fun
Down and down we go
Life is a mix of all things in one
Relax and enjoy the show
Lo and behold the arbutus tree
Cyclical lands of death
Come come closer and you’ll see
How we welcome rest
Scraps of pink and brown below
Green yellow and red above
Show me the mix and take it slow
This is the earth you love
The ringmaster he conducts himself
I am all things in one
Dying alive shedding blooming
This is what I do for fun
The trickster of trees
He yells in jest
Don’t you want to stay too long
For in these branches at this time
You could do no wrong
You choose the things you want to see
You’ve chosen the things you’ve liked
Not everything is dew and misty sea
Some of us are strange and sprite
Thank you for coming, now return
To the place you call dear
Come back again and I do say
I’ll see you far and near
Day 6
We live in a rainbow world
But we get used to it. We imagine
that what our minds come up with
is more real and significant than
the beauty that surrounds us. We
start to believe that we must be
realistic, which means we have to
listen to the facts of society. That
what other people tell us matters
more than what we feel in our
bodies when we allow ourselves
to connect to the perfection
around us. We stop allowing
ourselves to get swept away by
the miracle of a leaf, the water,
the sunrise. We box ourselves in
comfortable homes and we get
farther and farther away from
the deep true knowing inside
our bodies. But every morning
the sun rises. And the earth
pours her beauty over everything,
regardless of who’s watching.
Sometimes she rises with
majestic clothing, dousing the
skies in streams of pink,
spraying out endless colors
and shifts in mood. Sometimes
she is simple, quiet, covered in
clouds. Sometimes the moon
watches, from the other side.
Because it doesn’t matter, if
you watch or if you don’t, you
will have your experience. And
you can choose to miss it. You
can choose to look and never
let it fully in, never let the
beauty rip you open and show
you what is true about yourself.
Every day will come and every
sunrise will play on the sky
and you can decide to close
your curtains and shut your
eyes. And after a while you will
forget that you are even making
that decision. But the sun
doesn’t forget, and neither do
the plants. They are there
every day, hoping you will open.
Day 7
Don’t go so far today, she says, motioning me over.
She is the grandmother of herbs
I sit and she reaches for my hair, catching strands of it on her fingertips
I let my feet touch her too, leaning in
She is flowering now
Tiny purple blossoms on curvy arms
Her woody stems a chestnut color, but lighter, toffee almost
You are like a tree, I say
and she laughs
I am old
Waves of gentleness emanate from her being
I ask permission
And I rub a spring of her body in my hands
Releasing its scent. Like pine, perfume, dreams and longing
Each tiny leaf is a well-dressed miracle
I put it in my mouth
Oils dissipating on my tongue
They call this savory, usually, I tell her
But she is sweet
She wants me to put my phone down
To be wrapped in her arms, to just listen
The sunlight touches both of us at once
This is you, she says, holding me
This softness matters
She reminds me of my grandmother, in ways
Baking cookies, cutting up kiwis, candy, loving arms. Sugar in bowls of blueberries, milk.
I’ve been watching you, she tells me. I see the way you watch the sunrise, how you go out to look for things. I see you.
And my body opens and I allow that to wash through me. Softness, ease, hearty, reliable – she is all of those things.
Look at me, she says, dancing in the sunlight
Day 8
Come down into me.
Inhale.
Get me underneath your fingernails, on your face, in your mouth
Rich moist
Aliveness
Home of the dark. Home of
Crawly things
Feel them move
Crush me, into your pores
No, deeper
I want to feel your darkness
The expansive possibility
That comes from absence
From total
Nothing
And everything is birthed here
The fertile, moist soil
Don’t play with me for a moment
Only to return to your light
True comfort lives here.
Naked body touching soil.
Nipple touching soil.
Dirt on vulva, in cracks, tracing your hips
Out of me you grow
Do not pretend you don’t live here. Do not pretend your home is not in the
Decay
Return, over and over
Writhing stillness
Calls you home
Day 9
I tore out this little one by accident a couple weeks ago.
Climbing down the rock wall, I didn’t see them.
My foot slipped, and woosh – their entire body fell down to the grass below.
They held together.
Surrendered, willing to accept their fate, in one clump.
I immediately gasped, told them how sorry I was.
Picked them up gently, kindly.
And tucked them back into the soil.
I tried to pat the dirt in around them.
And then I just kind of had to leave them there.
Trusting their nature, hoping they’d reattach.
The same way we scratch our arms, and trust our bodies to do their thing.
Today I came out just to check on them, see how they were doing.
They reattached.
As if nothing had ever happened, as if they hadn’t fallen 500x their distance, crashed to the ground.
I could see some roots poking out, searching for a place to re grasp.
I even tugged on them a little, just to see – they had attached themselves back down into the earth.
They did not die. They did not shrivel up, giving up forever.
They just put roots in, again, and continued on.
Day 10
Bursts of joy
Mirroring my insides
The fullest expression of what it means, to be alive.
Outpouring of love, overflowing down the rocks
Leaves like stars
Delighting in existence
Their stems like a tangled mat of hair
It starts to rain, and fairies are shielded beneath them
We play under here, they say to me
If you listen really closely, you can hear us sing
We wish you could come, they say
Come run around with us
Dance through the aster forest
at night
I try to part the leaves to get a glimpse, but they reveal nothing
Spilling spilling spilling
But never out of place
Just a wash of brilliant
Femininity
Dressing the rocks in tiny bursts of sunlight
Beauty is a need, they say
I wish I could be Alice, and eat the cake
But I cannot
So I will watch, from afar
And just feel
their existence
Day 11
I bring myself closer, winding into their tendrils
Feeling the sweet stickiness of each limb, how clingy, how strong, yet delicate
Golden hour hits their hair
I saved you for my last day because you remind me of myself, I tell them
Let’s watch the sunset together
Thousands of arms
Wrapping me up
Their tops
Like the most gorgeous vulva, opening from the center
So tall, so still
So available.
I crouch down at the bottom, so their leaves fall around my face
Fireworks of lightness
You are still a little wet, I say
From all the rain. I didn’t know if I’d see you after all, because of the rain
They are beginning to dry, fluff out, the same as before, just cleansed.
I feel tired of squatting. Want to take my photo and return inside. Get something, move on with my day
Stay, they beg me. Watch with us
My mind is like: the whole time? I will be so bored, this whole time
They are like: what else is there?
Nothing really, besides watching the sunset with other beings
So I plop down, in the wet grass
The sun moves behind the clouds
Water hangs off the edge of a branch
I take it onto my tongue
The water turns pink
Why don’t you like your lightness, they ask
I don’t know, I sigh. Because it felt like it was taken away
If it gets taken away, I decide I don’t want it anymore
Is that true
No, I guess it’s not true, I say.
The water gets pinker
I do want it. I am just afraid it is not possible
You know now that it is possible.
So what, I say. I just drop it? This need to be the dark?
Embodied light, they say
And the cloud lifts off the water in the distance
If you liked this piece, you might also enjoy:
– Messages from nature: days 12-22 (part 2 of 3)
– Maybe one day I will tell my children
– The earth longs to be seen by us