Acknowledging Rage

The fury of Gaia

Toxic Food

Clearcutting forests

Rivers of plastic (Citarum, Indonesia)

I am so filled with rage and sadness. Its Overwhelming. I feel it consume my body, press down on my shoulders, pound in my head, ache in my belly. And no, I can't ignore it, I won't pretend it doesn't exist and I won't apologize for it. Visions of hot lava exploding from the Earth mesmerize me. This seems so urgent. This rage won't be held back, through the weakest points she leaks.

If all we want and all we need is to love and give love, why is it so hard to do? Why is accepting love and beauty so difficult for us? Our hearts know the truth, the purity that exists there is real. Why is it so hard to share that with others or even to remember that this pure place exists within us? Is this part of our problem? Have we forgotten this beauty inside ourselves? Instead we've become our fears, our insecurities, our past, our doubts... we've convinced ourselves of a different truth. A dark truth that whispers to us, feeding our feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness.

I'm so angry right now.

I'm angry that even when I try so hard I can't cut through this bullshit.

I'm angry that so many of us are complacently living a lie.

I'm angry that we have mistreated the Earth so very much - polluted her rivers and precious bodies of water, poisoned and pillaged her soil, her soul; burned and dismantled the secrets of her great forests.

I'm angry that we are living under the strong spell of money - that this great illusion of worth has fooled us all, reprogrammed our values and priorities; that people die because of it or for the lack of it.

I'm so fucking angry that our children are eating toxic food. That instead of nourishing their growth and health, the food we are feeding them is slowly killing them.

I'm angry that we have so much potential, so many choices, so many ways to be and still, we continue to make the same mistakes - we continue on this path of destruction.

Enough is enough!

I sit by the creek, watch the flow of the water, I cry, I scream, release this rage. So so much to scream about. I don't need to hold this in, I do not own this anger.

Instead I pray. I pray. I pray.

I pray we wake up.

I pray your cries of distress lift us to our feet, call us to action.

I pray for clean water, I pray for healthy food, I pray for peace.

I pray that we remember this Earth is our Mother, our source, to whom we are endlessly connected and indebted to.

Above all, I pray for love. I pray that we can learn to truly love each other and to truly love ourselves. Or at least that we never stop trying.

I pray that I find the strength to transform this rage into action.

I pray we find a new story rising from the ashes.

Oh Mother, please hear my prayers.

* Edited to add:

I thought about taking this down, because as quickly as it arises, the rage disappears. But, it needs to be heard, it needs to be witnessed in order to let it go. As I mentioned in the beginning, I won't ignore it or apologize for it. The writing helps me process emotions that can be too overwhelming.

Unrest in Her Belly

Volcano and Aurora

Fire from her belly

Clouds of ash choke the air

"Yes, creation is moving toward us; life is moving toward us all the time. We back away, but it keeps pushing toward us. From radiant space, from luminous darkness, it is approaching us. The elder brothers and sisters see that we have wounded the world, but creation still comes forward. Some of the elder brothers and sisters see that each of us bears the wound that we have suffered upon the Earth. And with this, life cannot help but move toward us. Prophecy and story remind us to turn toward creation, toward our extended self. Through the body of imagination, we are reminded of the World Body that gives us life. By destroying this body, we destroy ourselves. By restoring this body, we shall be restored"
- Joan Halifax, The Fruitful Darkness

Unrest in her Belly

The Earth, she screams

her molten tears

melt the landscape

transform it,

our security becoming

less and less certain,

a little more questioning

every time the Earth shakes.

Wake up, she screams

as ash clouds fill the sky

turning light to dark,

tumultuous skies

disrupt flight patterns

no more business as usual,

our systems fail

we are masters of no one,

we're mere puzzle pieces,

with illusions of control.

The Earth, she roars

how many cities must fall

before we truly hear

our buildings crumbling

foundations cracking,

empires crashing down?

There is unrest in her belly

and fear in our hearts,

are we ready for a new dawn?

Are we ready for a new way?

Dreams Sting So Sweet

Dreaming in the womb.

Tiny inspiration.

(photos by Francyne Kunkel www.justaddlight.com)

and these dreams

they fly through my body

with the force of the heavens

fill my veins,

beat in my chest

dance spirals up and down my vertebrae

tickle at the back of my throat

until i cry out

from that dark place in my belly

that stirs and churns

aches and moans

burning with the fever of life.

and these dreams they sway and slide

thickly through the canopy of my mind

where all is possible

everything i imagine grows wings

takes flight

painting loud colors across

night's dark sky.

and these dreams

i feel them vibrate within

filling my lungs with air

my eyes with tears,

tears that won't be told no

tears that sing of a life lived

tears that sting so sweet

as they fall deeply

under the spell of spring,

smell of spring

always unexpected

ever welcome.

how beautiful it is to be alive,

how beautiful it is to dream.

Forest Womb

Fallen tree, Armstrong Redwoods

In the womb

Mother Earth asleep in the green

Breath of light and life, hope and beauty

In the depths of the forest

from the womb of a fallen old growth tree, I emerge.

An intense journey through darkness

heavy pressure, uncertainties and unknowns.

Greeted by a blinding light

I want to kick and scream...

but am instead caught by patient, loving arms

just waiting to hold me tight

to keep me safe.

I release myself into her care

feel her strength support me

her vibrant spirit lift me up

her sweet love nourish me.

Wrapped in her arms I mourn for past lives

for infinite futures that will never be.

The tears flow without restraint -

clearing, cleaning, detoxifying;

carrying with them the weight of my fear.

I relinquish the fierce ghosts of my memory

allow their ragged bones to fall

and compost into the forest floor.

One day, sooner than I think,

these memories will become food,

they will bring life as they rot and decay,

nourishing the soil within,

creating fertile space for new life to grow.

I am reborn into a soft world of filtered sunlight

drifting through branches of green and brown

into a wonderland of etherial embraces

where faery songs and laughter fill the air

and mushroom families of yellow and red

peek mischievously out of the landscape.

Reborn into a vivid and harmonious world

where hopes and dreams are danced into being

with courageous breath and light footsteps,

I emerge.

Naming the Wound

Permaculture! 

Klimt's Tree of Life

Healing the Earth whole.

I've just come back from Earth Activist Training and I am still feeling like I am under the spell we weaved throughout two weeks of permaculture, direct action training, group process work and magic. The experience no doubt changed the direction of my life and provided me with some very intense and much needed healing experiences. I feel I am seeing with new eyes. My body feels different, more loose and comfortable. My heart is vibrating with all the love and support I received and gave, with the new connections I made. I feel empowered and hopeful about the future, both my own and of the planet. The peak of my experience came in the form of a story told by a very magical and conscious woman, a story of the beauty and utter improbability of all life. As she told the story my heart opened, it ached and resonated with the truth of our unfolding. After, I sat down in the rainy forest and poured my tears into the Earth. Releasing, releasing, releasing... humble and grateful, changed and changing. 

This past year has been challenging. I've found myself caught in a frustrating series of mental loops. The closer I came to a realization the more unclear the nature of it became. I found myself searching desperately for a greater meaning, posing questions of purpose and intent. Finally, I had a breakthrough and understood that within our dominant culture of violence and rampant consumerism - there is ultimately no greater meaning. Consumer ideology and power dynamics do not fulfill me! Nor do I believe that they are capable of fulfilling any human needs. They only serve to confuse, distract and further isolate us from the truth of our being. I see the symptoms all around - war, poverty, dis-ease, mental disorders... our culture is making us ill. There is no meaning within a structure that is designed to strip my power, destroy my relationship to my body, to the land I live on, to my sisters and brothers. In a structure that is designed to make me feel powerless, in a system where even the language I use is the language of my own oppression, how can I remember that magic lives inside me? 

I've always wondered if I was wounded at some point in my past. Did something traumatic happen to me as a child? Was it the way I have mistreated my body at various stages in this life? Old relationships? Physical injuries? Nothing in my past seemed to explain a hurt this big, a pain so searing. I couldn't find the words to name the source of the rage welling up inside. Or the words to describe this heavy numbness that eats away at me in the darkness from time to time. Now I understand that this gaping wound I hold in my body and in my consiciousness has been fed throughout my lifetime and lifetimes before me. The wound is the pain of separateness. It's my wound and its the collective wound of all humanity. This disconnectedness sickens us. Demonstrated in our violence and depression, our fears of intimacy, fears of our own truth, in our inability to accept our capacity to feel bliss. We are structurally taught that we are alone, that we exist as seperate beings, outside of rather than part of nature. The pain of that seperateness causes searing wounds, lifetimes of internal struggles and disease; it births wars, injustice, hatred, destruction. Its deeply woven into our culture. 

But we can retell our story any time we wish, in fact we MUST retell our story so that we may remember our connectedness and share with our communities. 

So this is the work, this is the goal, this is the process, this is the meaning I have been searching for. Reclaiming my own magic, my imagination, retelling my story, our collective story. We must reenvision our future by remembering our interconnectedness. We exist as part of a complex and beautiful system of natural cycles. When we can only picture ourselves outside of those cycles we don't see how essential each one of us is to the very fabric of the universe. Our work is to reconnect to our magic in whatever way we can. We must remember our place within the rhythms of the planet, reconnect with our own bodies and imaginations, with our land. We need to imagine ourselves back into the story of the universe.

And so we struggle to find new words, to sing with our true voices. We dig deep and find new ways of defining ourselves and tune in to an emerging consciousness. We look to each other and to the Earth to help us identify Self once more or perhaps accurately for the first time in our lives. The solutions we long for will not be handed down to us by any leader or government. It will emerge slowly, trickling out of All of Us as we collectively awaken and redefine our values. We will create a new culture, one that honors the magic and beauty that exists within us and all around us. We will make mistakes, but we'll create space for them. And we will forget many times along the way - because the forces that continue to shape us are strong and deep and engrained in us to the very letter on the page. 

I feel hopeful today. I trust that people are slowly waking up. That people will not ignore and suppress their deep dissatisfaction with the dominant culture. 

And in naming there is healing.

In sharing there is healing.

In witnessing, opening, crying, dreaming, remembering there is healing. 

This self awareness I once thought might be a curse is unfolding to be the most precious gift. 

How long has this story, these realizations been brewing? And how lucky am I to be alive and unfolding great mysteries in this very moment? All of our consciousness, intelligence, and understanding ever growing in complexity, our dialogue expanding, our awareness growing, our wound becoming raw again, bleeding and open, deeper than we could have ever imagined.

And it must be so. We must explore the very depths of our wound to discover, to truly understand our gift of life. 

Solstice Fire

The light returns!

Solstice dreaming..

Short days, long nights.

Seconds spin eternity on this long night.

These emotions of mine want to play,

so I dress them up like paper dolls

twirl them around my fingers 

like a strand of hair fallen out of place

use them as kindling 

in a brightly burning solstice fire.

Memories dance on the backs of my eyelids

light changes against shadows

the darkest moments make the best fodder 

for this hungry, anxious fire.

So very very much I want to burn up tonite,

like the walls I've built so very very high

artificial distance between you and I,

doubts I nurture like little babes

feeding them whenever they cry cry cry loud enough.

I want to burn the creeping, sinking, sticky numbness

loops of apathy, loops of apathy, loops of apathy,

the trap of words as they beat against the roof of my mouth.

Burn burn burn 

this goddam fear that squeezes my eyes closed so tight.

Tonite, I want to burn the invisible weights that tie me down.

I offer it all up to a willing fire,

red and orange coals drink up the excess

smoke fills the air, purifying as it rises.

Soon the light will return,

slowly slowly towards a new day.

Amidst Fallow Chaos

Mendocino Woodlands

Exploring the edges,

rugged borderlands,

amidst fallow chaos,  I run -

my heart pounding, 

spit forming,

shapeshifting,

hiding behind mask after mask

but never escaping

myself.

Beneath the layers,

only my core essence remains...

a gentle lover

compassionate guardian

steadfast witness

and loyal daughter of Gaia.

I lay flat on my back

feeling the cool dirt of the forest floor

against my bare skin, 

soft moonlight peeking thru trees

the last thing I see before 

my eyes flutter closed.

As I surrender my body to her

our heartbeats merge

effortlessly,

without struggle.

Body.

Bones.

Blood.

Dirt.

Compost.

Dancing, dreaming, resting

in the womb of the Earth.

We are all connected.