Wild nature gives me a safe container to be myself, to feel and move what’s inside me. A deep sense of holding and being held. When I walk into the bush in awe and wonder and drop into a soft way of being, the forest does me. There is a sense of other beingness that fills the space between the bush and I and that is where the doing happens.
Trees branches become vessels of my heart, connecting me to ancestors,. Running water is my blood, their blood.. Silky threads of spider webs brush my face as I find the pathway of least resistance through the forest. My body becomes the wild body of nature, the Divine Mother holding me fiercely in her sway teaching me the changing cycles of life and death, birth, and rebirth.
Ever powerful ever knowing, she is always wanting to renew me. This is how I came out of the bush one end of summer day.
End of Summer Cicadas
Sound pulses and ripples the trees.
A chamber of rising collapsing symbols
to disappear into.
Sitting on an old tree stump
Screaming and breathing in time with the
end of summer cicadasGriefragelove exposes me in broad daylight.
The rage is coming from both sides.
It’s force surprises me.
Can anyone hear me?Cicadas pitch in with me in concerted harmony.
Mine is a strangled tortured sound
not
A clean pure white rage that I know some women are good at.Mother gives me the need to rage.
Father walks me into the bush.
The cicadas undo me.
The log holds me.
It’s a family affair.
Image credit Ashley Blanton, Escape into Life