Ancient Blood in New Veins

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When I walked outside to bring my neighbor her respiratory tea mix it was dark. Inside the house the kids were watching a movie, something about a dog that comes back to life. They were watching it on a big screen t.v. The house was warm, the propane fireplace giving off its glow. The lights were on, the cell phones were plugged in, the down jackets were hanging on the door rack. Dinner was cooking in the oven. The table was set, with dishes recently washed with hot running water right out of the facet, and set with cloth napkins taken out of the dryer earlier that day.

Nothing about this environment said early 1500’s, and everything about it said 2012.

    But when I walked out that door into the darkness of night, it might as well have been 1550. The noise and light of the house quickly faded. The road was quiet, and dirt, with patches of ice. The sky was bright with stars and there was no moon to lessen their shine. My cardigan flapped in the wind seemingly transforming itself into a cloak riding on currents of air. The wind was moving off the mountain out over the plains, giving a creak and whisper to the trees in the dark. Speaking a language old and slow, a language that some still understand. Subtle things, quick things, bright things moved in the shadows of the trees. Magic things.

      If you think that women do not still move in the magic of things then you best think again. There are some that still feel the connection to the stars. There are some that still understand the magic of things grown outside in the wind and the rain. There are some that still hear the earth breathe and the wind sigh, and understand in a language not spoken by others what they are saying. There are some that follow the rhythms of the world. And slowly like spring after winter they are rising again, in great numbers.

    They understand that spirit moves within them. They understand that their beauty is a gift of Spirit, that cannot be matched or duplicated by a fashion model. The light that shines through these women is not a light that can be photoshopped. And they know this. They have struggled against society’s tide to not be fooled by the pictures and the clothes. And often they were ridiculed for it. But this ridicule is nothing in the face of the crucifixion they have suffered in the past. They, these magic women, they do not have time to get caught up in the ridicule of a society that says they must look or act like this or that. No these magic women have bigger fish to fry.

    For so long we as women have been silent.  For too long the Goddess has been silenced, or more truthfully said, she has been ignored. Not so anymore. She is waking in every women. Too loud are her words not to be heard. This light is beginning to shine onto the world, none too soon and none too late. Her light too bright not to be seen in every woman who remembers that spirit lives inside her. And spirit is a Goddess and a God.

    SHE has grown strong her silence, she has fortified her resolve over the past thousands of years of being silently ignored. She has waited patiently, watching and feeling the rhythms of the Universe, she understands when it is time to be heard again. And the time is now. SHE is perfect in her timing.  And she is stirring the embers in women’s hearts to a roaring flame. Into a fire that will change the world.

    She is one with God. SHE is in everyone one us, man and woman. It is our nature to know and express both GOD and GODDESS.

    All this is what I felt as I walked out of house into the darkness, into the arms of the wind, walking on the lap of the mountain. All this is what I “knew” as I walked an eternal path out of society and into the Goddess. Nature always wins. And I am nature. You are nature. You and I are the God and the Goddess.

All this is what I felt as walked out of the house into the darkness.

The Cottonwood Prayer

If you sit and listen to a cottonwood it has a special kind of sound when the wind rustles its leaves. You would have to hear it to fully understand what I mean, but I can tell you what it is like. There is a soft subtle loudness to it, like a background noise that is so quiet its loud. Its like the wise Sage of trees. The wise sage may talk but you are going to have pay attention or his wisdom will be drowned out by your own dialogue.

 

There is definitely a magic about these trees.

The Arapaho Indian tribe had a story about this magic. According to the story the wind came and swooped up the stars from the cottonwood and sprinkled them into the sky. The Lakato use the cottonwood as the Tree of Life for their Sundance. And if you pick the right branch you will find a star inside upon snapping it open.

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Whether the Cottonwood tree sprinkled the stars into the sky or not I cannot say, but I do know that the star in the center of its branches speaks volumes to the magic that moves through the air when the wind dances with its leaves. Like a standing living prayer flag these trees send their prayers over the hills and plains and up to the heavens. A prayer that connects all the life here on Earth with all life out there among the stars, a divine breath of star magic from earth to star and back again.

 

Every season, every day, every morning, every night through the rain and the snow and the heat the Cottownwood sends its star magic out into the world for the benefit of all beings everywhere. Like the old sage who constantly prays, the cottonwood stands at peace spreading love at every moment of every day.

 

Thank you Cottonwoods for the constant vigil of starlit prayers from our world to the next.