Water Spider

weaving a new dream

When you become the source of Life for another being, there grows inside you a small seed, a resonance, an affinity with the greater cosmic source, the greater, central, invisible, multidimensional “water” that is responsible for nourishing all of Life. Maybe that is why women are water protectors and toxicity police. To receive, grow and sustain life, there must be an inborn inclination towards the great galactic goop of creative potential, or towards that inner infinite mystery that is responsible for birthing all of Creation.

Recently we received women on our land for our first ever visionary women’s gathering. We came to sit in circle, to listen, to imagine. And as those women arrived that first day, I could feel how each one carried their own living breathing worlds. That, like the north star, they were each guiding their own solar systems, tidal waves and bird migrations, each like a living Gaia within her own circle of Creation.

“Be like the Tree of Life,” an elder once told me, “in the center of your garden.”

So it was like that, in my garden, to receive these mothers and their children like constellations of living light and power, to give them a place to rest, to remember, to be. The children shrieked and pots of food simmered over the wood stove, and it felt GOOD to be in life like that, really living together. Of course, we stumbled, we learned, we skidded across galactic chasms, and flew by the seat of our pants! We humbled ourselves in not always knowing the path, and we quieted ourselves to focus on a different way of being together as women, as villages, as constellations, as ancestors-to-be.

Each living Gaia, as a complete, wise and powerful emanation of light itself, offered her own ancient lineage of truth, in contact with and remembrance of those oceans of bodies, wombs and hearts that came before her. As we listened, we grew an understanding. And it was an honor to be within a circle like that, raw, real, loving, wise; a circle whose ancestry spanned the globe and yet whose vision was aligned in unity towards Life herself.

In the forest, the flowers bloom in a natural succession. Each time we think it’s over, we find a new flower, a new bloom.

When I walked in the forest, I saw my shadow: a woman carrying a child on her back, walking stick in hand, surrounded by goats. I forgot my temporal relevance. I was just that, the life-carrying woman of old, no nation, no era, no culture. Universal. Connected. Life carrying life carrying life.

In the forest, I smell my mother’s people. I smell them as I walk in the bear’s migration corridor, among the gamble oak and service berry. Among the crushed leaves and running water. In the silence. In the stillness. In the space between thoughts. I smell them and I give thanks for this life they have given me.

Someone once said that in a circle, everything that needs to be said gets said. In the circle of life, what sound could be missing?

At the closing circle, my daughter poured handful after handful of our own homegrown corn pollen over the rocks and in the fire. We called in walking paths, spiraling villages and water wheels. Gathering stories, we weaved. Gathering visions, we weaved. We weaved and weaved and we remembered the water spider who surrenders into prayer pose as she transforms her reality from one web to the next.