"...the 50,000 generations that preceded us in the Pleistocene, which is the age of the Ice Ages, when we became what we are as part of the natural world — when we were wildlife, if you like; we don’t think of ourselves as wildlife anymore, but we were wildlife then — that those generations are more important for our psyches, even now, than the 500 generations of civilization which have followed the invention of farming about 12,000 years ago. So that there is a legacy deep within us, a legacy of instinct, a legacy of inherited feelings, which may lie very deep in the tissues — it may lie underneath all the parts of civilization which we are so familiar with on a daily basis, but it has not gone; that we might have left the natural world, most of us, but the natural world has not left us."
We walk this earth with tender feet,
searching hands,
breath held in silken clouds somewhere in our chest,
eyes wide, unwilling to blink.
Wander in wonder, hearts trembling and cracking open, remembering.
Remembering what it felt like,
waking,
peeling ourselves out of the boggy ground,
the imprint our bodies left behind us,
the empty place we walked away from.
In our ancient woodlands,
dark and leafy,
sun-dappled,
we clambered over mossy boulders,
through quiet pools and meandering rivers.
And somewhere in our journeying,
heads down,
we left the forest,
took to the fields,
and for a while we did not look up,
did not see the treetops dance and nod to us,
beckon,
alive with Life.
Until we paused
and looked back - look
the way back obscured and overgrown.
We are lost.
So, hands scratched,
we search,
cheeks whipped,
hair entangled.
We search.
We search.
Always.
For the way back in.
Listen, Great Silence.
Are you tired of me talking in your ear about this yet? Sorry.
(Not sorry!)
I have written about this so many times before, too many to mention here - heart sore and bewildered, or ecstatic and awestruck, each time reminded of this deep connection we all have to this tellurian mother we are part of, deep in our tissue, our ancestral memory. So many times I have questioned our disconnect, our willing abandonment of a more balanced, indisputably obviously more natural and commonsense way of living.
Yes, I do have others I have met here on the edge of the forest, scratched and whipped and searching like me, but I am interested in you, the Great Silence, who do not want to talk about it.
Come here to me.
Surprise me now, and talk to me.
Tell me, do you know what happened?
Listen to that ancient, scratchy voice inside you that is longing to be heard - that's it right there, 'just in the threshold of hearing', close your eyes, take a moment to search it out, to find it. It longs for you to hear it and has much to say.
We don't need to look very far.
Watch the children.
Do as they do.
For they are our teachers.
Everything we need is right here.
We just need to reach out our hand to it,
grasp hold of it, and never let it go.
Let it help us find our way home.
Bring ourselves back to [Wild] Life....
the way back obscured and overgrown.
We are lost.
So, hands scratched,
we search,
cheeks whipped,
hair entangled.
We search.
We search.
Always.
For the way back in.
Listen, Great Silence.
Are you tired of me talking in your ear about this yet? Sorry.
(Not sorry!)
I have written about this so many times before, too many to mention here - heart sore and bewildered, or ecstatic and awestruck, each time reminded of this deep connection we all have to this tellurian mother we are part of, deep in our tissue, our ancestral memory. So many times I have questioned our disconnect, our willing abandonment of a more balanced, indisputably obviously more natural and commonsense way of living.
Yes, I do have others I have met here on the edge of the forest, scratched and whipped and searching like me, but I am interested in you, the Great Silence, who do not want to talk about it.
Come here to me.
Surprise me now, and talk to me.
Tell me, do you know what happened?
Listen to that ancient, scratchy voice inside you that is longing to be heard - that's it right there, 'just in the threshold of hearing', close your eyes, take a moment to search it out, to find it. It longs for you to hear it and has much to say.
We don't need to look very far.
Watch the children.
Do as they do.
For they are our teachers.
"We have such a brief opportunity to pass on to our children our love for this Earth, and to tell our stories. These are the moments when the world is made whole. In my children's memories, the adventures we've had together in nature will always exist."
~ Richard Louv, Last Child in the Woods.
Reach out your hand and you can touch it - the fabric of this place we belong to. It's under our feet, outside our window, it is present in those differently alive beings we share our homes and gardens with; 'our' cats and dogs, the birds in the treetops, the insect on the wall.
Stoop down and push your fingers into the soil, brush your hands through the waving grass, lie down and look at the sky above you. Take a moment to look at leaves.
We all need to take a moment to look at leaves.
Close your eyes.
Feel this Earth under your body.
And listen.
Everything we need is right here.
We just need to reach out our hand to it,
grasp hold of it, and never let it go.
Let it help us find our way home.
Bring ourselves back to [Wild] Life....
The Lover of Earth Cannot Help Herself ~ by Mary Oliver
In summer,
through the fields
of wild mustard,
then goldenrod,
I walk, brushing
the wicks
of their bodies
and the bright hair
of their heads –
and in fact
I lie down
that the little weightless pieces of gold
may float over me,
shining in the air,
falling in my hair,
touching my face –
ah, sweet-smelling
glossy and
colorful world,
I say,
even as I begin
to feel
my left eye then the right
begin to burn
and twitch
and grow very large –
even as I begin,
to weep,
to sneeze
in this irrepressible
seizure
of summerlove.
2 comments:
Beautiful, Ciara.
(O)
Miss your blog,but I guess you are busy!
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