Dreaming of...Creating a sanctuary, a home, a space where when one steps into whole-being graceful embrace. It is a warm old house with dust in the cracks and a creaks in the floor boards: it is a vibration of such intensity to heal communities. An abundant garden grows outside the kitchen window among barefoot children playing, goats and chickens grazing. Medicines line the cabinets, vines hang from rafters, soup cooks on the stove. Aprons are spread with food and boots are caked with mud. Hands are dirty and calloused but the water runs clear and cold from the well. The work is healing; the healing is the work. Heavy rain storms come and go and everything smells fresh and alive; scents of rosemary, sweet grass, earth. The river rushes higher with a cool breeze to pierce the heavy humidity. Greens are luminescent at dusk and the moon is on her rise. After the feast, drums line the living space and a heartbeat, a wild beat, fills the air and hearts of all. Thank you, thank you, thank you for this life! Protect us, guide us, and hear our chants! Spirits of the wind carry these songs through the town, creeping in windows and deep into hungry bellies. The beat goes on and owls and crickets and frogs join the great nocturnal symphonic movement as heads lay down to rest. Minds become quiet, bodies are still, spirit is free. The songs still flow from house to house, heart to heart. Though any one may know, no one knows for certain, just that something sweet, something gentle, something with fire and love touched something so sweet, so gentle, so fiery, so loving, so deep...It was there all along, just waiting for the right song. -- Rachel Haas
Posted on: Thu, 02 Oct 2014 18:57:07 +0000
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