we are cleaning - light body fractures holding keys to unseen realities we are cleaning, the flames touch the flowers and mountains of our memories - we are returning to before the light was distorted and the holy was forgotten we are cleaning the ley lines of our youth. who were you before the fracture?
I am holding my child, looking into the chasm here, by our home, where people have thrown their old socks and moccasins, their heritage and old tools, stones carved deep, stones with holes.
The juniper smoke fills the openness, cleansing the mountain and feeding the spirits. Old ways remembering themselves through us. How many thousands of sacred fires, here, becoming one single flame, blue, gold and magenta, carrying the ten million prayers for wholeness into the high hands that can hold them, turn them, make seeds of them.
Innocence in the face of my child, perfect innocence, enraptured in the ever changing miracle of Life, now and now and now again. We are turning our own beads, crushed rose petals and spring water, turning them in our hands and minds, repeating the old mantras in Hebrew and Sanskrit and Silence.
“Mama, is that the fire talking?”
Mem, the thirteenth letter of the aleph-bet, just so, open at the bottom, pointing towards the heavens. A river at the base of a mountain. A whisper from the fire to the sky, a revelation in the reflection of the Infinite. Who am I?
As children, in innocence, in reverie, endlessly open and in awe. As children, trusting, held and nourished. A child in the arms of something unfathomably strong and loving, held by something unknowably compassionate, something eternal.
As children, we know who we are.
At home on the green earth, the rising smoke looks blue against the white ash of a cloud covered day, and I can see the treasures of the chasm resurrecting. Two stones: one with a tiny human handprint, the other, a mountain.
I can’t recommend reading The Institute of Natural Law enough. Each post brings me home to an old knowing of a possible future. Please check them out.
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Thank you for reading this edition of Wild Leaf. May it be of benefit to you and yours. If you like what you read, consider becoming a paid subscriber, or, if you don’t want a monthly subscription, you can always, Buy Me A Coffee.
Much love,
Leah