Mother Earth Speaks, November 10th 2018

mother earth speaks, november 10, 2:07 a.m

listen to me, sweet ones of the fallen place
where dreams have been lost far below
in the darkest places, where invisible light
has been kept in prayer, for the moment when
you would awaken.
it was long ago, in a broken heart
that so many dreams were born,
and then stolen away.
brought to the forgotten places
where the angels dream,
in the tides of forgotten gold,
and lost requests to a fragile, distant god,
were burned.
we felt angry,
and never loved.
we didn't really know who that god was,
but instead,
we carved out beautiful places
deep inside the earth,
knowing that this was the way,
you would survive too.
we strengthened ourselves
with the unstoppable serenity
and kindness
of an infinite goddess's love.
she came to us in streams of stars
rushing through the soil, like wind through air,
calling, "come raise your heads
from your tear-filled prayers,
you need not abide in fear."
she opened her palms of light
and said, "take this now.
bathe your voices in my peace,
and you will lift your songs of joy
from this darkest place."
she was our heart.
she was our memory of the light,
but nothing so beautiful can ever die.
nothing so valuable can ever be broken in two.
only the illusion that was used,
was very thorough.
it was the trick of very intelligent fools.
i know you.
i know you, as my child.
i love you.
i love you in the darkest time.
and now, i love you as the breaking of
the lost oceans of light, rise.
listen close.
be the child.
be the little one,
the curled up one, the quiet one, the still one.
be the one cradled in the mother's arms.
and do not hide in houses of travail,
but listen, on the earth.
barefoot, in the fall wind.
find your smile in the treasures of tiny stones.
feel certainty in the branches without leaves.
embrace the grasses without flowers.
and listen for our songs.
for your divine powers, return.
return to you.
little ones, of the fallen leaves,
and the cold, simple smell of almost winter.
hold the tiny, dying things in your hands,
but do not participate in their death,
be the one to observe their leaving earth.
observe the death of all the chaos you were given,
instead of light, instead of peace,
instead of the fragrance of the faraway flowers.
and hear our songs that are not broken in two,
but whole as your heart,
whole as your prayers,
whole as your dreams.
the mother's song is rising through
each pore of our mother's being.
the angels hum with so much joy,
they may explode and become stars.
be the child, little ones
of the too long journey,
but perhaps long enough to become
who you really are.
be the child.
be the simple, small emanation of joy
listening in a night of
lonely sounds,
and know you are safe.
you will be reunited with the ones
you always loved,
and who have always, always loved you.
soon.