The Beat of a Hundred Hands Clapping

I can hear it,

the beat of a hundred hands clapping

I can hear them

the steady melody of a thousand voices singing

I can feel their rhythm

thumping through thundering earth beat

the sound of indigenous resistance

the indigenous spirit of Life 

Always thriving
always beating
never resting
maybe hiding at that

like a sly fox

hiding in the dark and forgotten place

hiding from the conquerors reach

till the time is right

passing on the stories, passing on the songs

passing on the myths of Who We Are

and How It All Began

Songlines of Remembering

Telling us again and again

how to be Human 

How to be Free.

One Big Sweaty Dance

Maybe this is all one big dance.
Maybe the deaths, the acidity in the sea, the holes in the earth,
the cracks in the heart, the generational trauma,
maybe it is all one big fat sweaty dance.

Maybe the music is thumping, beating so loud and hard,
Maybe we are all dancing so fast and furious,
our feet red from hitting the floor with passion
our voices rising with ecstatic fury as the music goes up and up

and maybe I am so tired to hold onto my own sense of separateness
that I put my sweaty arm on your sweaty shoulder
and just maybe you do the same
because you don't care about my sweat anymore

maybe we all start jumping together
arm in arm
in a big room, in a big circle
in big rhythm, thum thum thum thum
feet all beating together
that a smile cracks my heart

Maybe these times
are all one big sweaty dance.

Woman

Women mysteries fascinate me.
For years I felt this pull, this longing to go closer to the Feminine, to her wild, dark, enchanting, witchy, moon bubbling cauldron of mystery.

I have hidden it, to myself and to the world as well, my mind a product of years of patriarchal influences- don't go close to artsy things, stuff with flowers on it, or with those weird "Goddess" drawings.

The pull was so strong, though, that the journey back to Her had already begun before my resistances could catch me.
I would feel a strange jealousy for the women renaissance.
I would wander into Rebecca's Herbal Apothecary and look for hours-seeming moments through the shelves of books, herbs, oils, and creams.

Three years ago I considered becoming a male doula (I would have been only the 2nd person to do it, in the U.S.). I have been lucky to find my way many times as a guest of a revolutionary year-long Midwifery school in Asheville thanks to my sisters Dakota and Camille.

As a male-bodied person, I will never to actually experience the pain and gift of birthing another human (What?! Women make HUMANS. Let's breath on that for a second) and there are mystery that, as millenia-old traditions hold, I should never be allowed to enter into.
Yet the pull towards the mysteries of the womb, the vagina of creation, the witch arts, the moon mysteries is undeniable in me.

With this New Moon in Cancer, I celebrate the Goddess, Her who I am feeling strongly in the Waters of the MEditerranean sea, She who birthed me and can take my life in a wave of a heartbeat, She who gives gives gives. Here is to the Goddess. Here is to you Women, Females in all shapes and forms (human and other-than-human). Thank you for your constant teaching me. As I did as a child completely mesmerized by the Moon, staring at her for hours and then howling with both lungs, I will keep my howl song to you.

The Gift Unique to You

The Earth, the Soul of this World,
longs for me, for you,
to find and express your unique gift.

Human, you are NOT an accident.
You are not a sin.

You are a poem,
A song,
Within you the force
of hundreds of years of thrusting
Life pushing through
Like a wild river

Be still in the confusion of the forest
silent in the darkness of the maze
Connect with the song of soul
Find the Gift
and share it with us.

We need you.
The health and Wholeness of the World
depends on it.

Animist

I consider myself an Animist, and I am proud of it.
Look at ShEA
Of course ancestors
heard songs of mermaids
of course ancestors
paid their respect

Look! at ShEA
Spirit of the Seas
TakeLife - GiveLife
Feeding my dry mouth
Enormous belly
Wild, Untamed waters
Depths that shall never be touched
That's where the Magic is born
There are places where Human eyes have no business

I consider myself an Animist, and I am proud of it

The Gods are Still Here

May 25

I believe in a spirituality grounded in the Earth, connected with place, seasons, and the more-than-human others all around us (foxes, bids, rivers, mountains, trees,etc.)

My research takes me down the roots of ancestral knowings and flip through the literature to find out which Gods and Goddesses my ancestors venerated. 

But the spirituality of the Earth is still here. 

In the ground. Under my feet and all around me. 

Whether they be Krishna, Jesus, Buddha, Diana, Apollo, Thor, Odin, or any other SpiritGod that manifested in a specific time to a specific people IN a specific Place. The Gods/esses are STILL here.

In the bones and in the mountains, probably waiting for us humans to remember our place of Human Beings, and give gifts of Beauty and Tears.

So yes to ancestral reconnection and yes to spirituality of place.

The sacred is all around. Praying that my ears may open enough to hear the thousand voices sharing their song.

Trust Your Path

October 27, 2012

You will be born as a seed and sprouted like a flower onto the sacred, hurting Earth.

You will come at a perilous time.

Despair and confusion in the eyes of your brothers and sisters. Sacredness and beauty forgotten.

The forest will whisper your name.

Indigenous songs will remind you.

Have faith. Breathe. Hold onto signs, smells, intuitions.

Follow the path; like a hunter stalk your pray. Dream. Dance. Sing.

Your every step will become a prayer.

Shoes, socks will fall. Your naked feet touching moist soil.

You will begin to remember.

Trust. Trust.

Your path.