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Slow down, let the dust settle. What remains when the rain clears the dust from the trees and makes the air easier to breath?
Bare witness. What is around me? What thoughts come? What am I always suffering about?
What appears to me? What is the message of the spider? of the tree?
What lessons do they hold for me?
Presence my soul with silence.
Am I ready for the answer to my question?
Pray. And Stay.
What am I here for?
I am ready. Here I am.
Gentle rains, a gentle answer. Water.
The life that I am called to tend.
Connect with the healed figures of the people, places, spirits of my life.
Breath. Pray. Call in the spirits. Open my hands. Open this vessel, this temporary body.
I feel the call of my ancestors strongly. I am already receiving memories and sensations from the time when our way of being with the Earth and spirit was violently shifted to dogmatic religion. The fear, the fire, the hiding. The letting go of practices and knowledge to be safe. The acquiescence of our voice. We women stopped daring to pray, to return to our ways and were kept from tending the alters of the new religions. We did not give up our seat. It was taken from us. And we still shy away from our birthright as caretakers of spirit, of water, of life, for the fear still lives in our bones. And when we try to reclaim our place, we are shaky and unsure, still apprehensive. For we are not beyond the time where it could be our last. The inquisition was successful and now is the time to heal so women can take their place in the order of things once again.
And I am safe here on this land, with these people, in this ceremony. I can dare to access the frequency of my ancestors, to even share what they have to say to me without fear of prosecution by those around me. I am protected here.
Every time my heart beats strong when I am about to speak is both the fear and the encouragement of my ancestors to go for it. Something needs to be spoken in these moments and I am not alone in the speaking.
My life is a ceremony. My life is the prayer of my ancestors.
Not knowing what is next, when it arises is a beautiful moment of possibility and potential for something to come into place.
When I make room in my life to listen for what is next without having a plan, an answer will always come.