All great things take time. More so, embodied presence births legacies of love.
We are people who do a lot. Civilization, that is. Recently up here in Flagstaff, Arizona - I have dabbled in attending a couple weekly kirtans. They are held in the intimate Temple of the Divine Mother above the Sacred Rites Sound Healing store - which is a mouthful of magic all on its own. And, in last week’s practice, I picked up the distinction between civilization and nature in a story.
The story was of a guru who lived in the forest. He had renounced himself from the city and devoted himself to his practice. However, a forest nymph tempted him to spill his seed. And from that, his son was born.
His son’s birthright was to one day save the city from a drought. A request made via a pilgrimage of a humbled King who was devoted to people of his city. Raised in the forest all his life by his father, the son was completely unaware of civilization, and so it was merely from his presence in the city that the rains were back to its earth.
This is often the case in stories: a great teaching or wisdom must be retrieved from the depths of nature and brought back into civilization to restore.
Civilization holds many comforts. Nature does not. A person in the city may often forget that if the city makes one slip… nature will move in.
With that in mind, my seasons in writing have changed. The routines I was following in the summer have shifted, and it is incredibly forgiving to remember these ebs and flows that nature so easefully shifts through while civilization may not.
Rest. Silence. Recuperate. Patience. Wait for the Moment. Restore.
A person may find it nauseating to be at sea between two shores for an extended period of time. Especially, if the next shore may be unknown. However, what is it to be guided and for a person to be in full trust? Trust of the timing, the situation, and the revelation that full-embodied presence is what brings the rains to the earth.
To quench this thirst. It is all life-giving and yet it is so mysterious and slow. Much different from the pace and excitement of the city, which is also trying to quench this thirst.
The young boy from the forest was lured to the city via music and dance. The art of civilization is nothing to be ashamed of or to hide away from. And yet, nature is profoundly modeling this ease in creation.
Americana was a term that I heard before we lived on the road in the Airstream. I never got around to sharing this story, but it was a term used to describe Michael at a Deva Doya concert before we left. Oh you are so Americana, an older hippy woman with kind and affirming eyes told him. This was not the first time an older woman has strongly gestured to me their approval of my husband… and I could really sense her intention with this word: Americana. I remembered wondering what it could mean. “The true essence of the American Dream” was how Michael had described it to me. And so, while we were on the road: I opened my eyes to see if I could find more of this Americana in other cities, and yet it was the ruts and washouts of the American Dream that I found.
Civilization tries it best. And yet, it was an intention that was separated from creation the day it begun. According to the etymology, the meaning is “civilized condition, state of being reclaimed from the rudeness of savage life”. And from there, the roots of savage were fairly predictable, and yet there was one that stood out: from Late Latin silvaticus, “wild, woodland,” from silva “forest, grove.”
!!!!
There is no doubt. One must leave the city and pilgrimage into nature — when and where that occurs — may be a matter of guidance and how a person wishes to move with their life.
You are pushing a pea up the mountain with your nose, the tarot reader told me. She was also a friend, an older woman, and a genuine angel reflecting back on that time of my life. This was when life gave me tower moments and emotional upheavals and my fists were clenched and my eyes brows were furrowed and I would run away from Michael whenever it felt like too much in my head.
These moments led me to some incredible pilgrimages: bushwacking in the forests of southeast of Alaska at 21, volunteering at a treehouse community in the jungles of Costa Rica, and surprisingly becoming pregnant in 2020 - mothering continues to be the pilgrimage that never ends HA and yet, I now think the evolution of life is an eb and flow between these different journeys always.
Traveling into the forest to retrieve my inspiration. The root of this word is “breathing life or spirit into.” It does not always have to be a physical retreat, and more so the importance is going in. Into where the roots of your spirit lie - where the dwellings of creativity and Godliness always lay.
I remember crawling on my hands and knees under trees, atop of wet moss, and spooking incredibly isolated black bears in the forest. I remember walking into a sea of insects and stepping on stones to get to the bridge that crossed the rio in Costa Rica. It was dark and scary and I just found a way to do it and be brave.
Sometimes it’s like that.
Epics stories may only be made if a person is willing to go there.
This is gift. The seeds that one brings back to the city.
Water to restore generations to come. (The Course by Ayla Nereo)