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Summer is Earth on your Hands and Clay on your Feet.
There is a Gentle River that calls, making the journey sweet.

There’s something about connecting to the Planet we stand on; to the earth that yields our food, to the elements that make up the bread and bones of our physical existence.

The world we live in has become a maze of blinking lights and beeping appliances, taking us on a journey farther and farther away from our source, our origins, our internal drum-beat.

We amaze ourselves – again and again – by the return to Simple Roots, the immersion and re-immersion in the Sound of Us, the Place We Sprang From, the Fountain of Familiar Song that echoes deep in our own caverns.

Summertime – as it is now in the Northern Hemisphere – presents us with opportunities, once again, to reconnect with Nature. Trees, ponds, ripples of wind, waves on ocean beaches, big birds in blue skies.

Sunny Mudd

Ripples in sand remind us of the innate patterns in life: the seasons, the days and nights, the shaping of things by the inevitable tides of change. The return of orphaned tide-pools to the Knowing Mother, ocean of oceans.

There’s something both reassuring and disconcerting about how Nature works. Reassuring in the sense that everything breathes a “sigh” when the weathered leaf finally lets go of the branch and settles down to the mantle of the earth in a festival of color.

Disconcerting in that we are the leaves, the withered and shiny-green, and crinkled and pock-marked, the spring buds and autumn masterpieces that all wait for that gentle day when we ourselves let go of the branch that sustains us. At that point, there is nothing left but trust. Holding on is not an option.

Nature shows us back – in its own mirror – something of our own nature. Our ripples. Our gentle winds. Our soft caresses. Our deep and sweet and organic rhythms. Our pulse, our blood, our breath. Our longing for sun and light; as well as our need for the womb of protection, silence, rest.

There’s something truthful and uncontrived about Nature: its simplicity, it’s synergy, its interdependence. It claims to be nothing more than it really is – and yet what it really is, is breath-taking, inspiring, uplifting, awesome, soothing, healing.

It makes no false claims.

It needs no “makeup”.

There is no insurance policy that guarantees the changing of seasons.

This is a true reflection of the true nature of what we hold inside us as human beings; this is the way were were manufactured.

What has happened in the world of man, that has made us drift so far from our true selves? Let me count the ways of getting lost. They are myriad. They are un-numbered. They are useless to name, to blame or to dwell on, because the only worthwhile piece of information for humans lost in the labyrinth is the sign-post that points to home.

The sweetness of the breath of Nature is that it calls us back to our Self; that it echoes our own true longing for Home, for Rest, for Resolution, for Peace, Serenity, Contentment, Joy.

These things are not foreign to us.

Forgotten, yes. Foreign, no.

These qualities are our innermost territory, our deepest drummer, our most familiar and friendly rhythm.

These qualities call us home, urge us on, move us forward, help us repeal, release, renew, re-negotiate the road, even after we wander from our hearts’ calling.

Are we this?

What are we?

Are we the maddening, ever-increasing circles of technology, speed, impatience, arrogance, greed and violence we see portrayed on the world-scene every day? Is this us? Is this our legacy? The footprint we will leave for future generations to ponder on?

Or are we something simple, something awesome, some as splendid and sweet as the ripples on the shore, rustling leaves, billowing clouds?

Going Home

The labyrinth is complex.

The way home is simple.

Each of us journeys alone, despite the clamor of friends, families, partners.

Each of us has a lone voice, a single longing, a true yearning, buried deep inside of us, that will never abandon us, never mislead us, and always show us the way.

I trust in this.

Amidst all the clamor, the necessities, the obligations, the battles … there’s one clear small voice that has been speaking to me all my life.

Now I am listening.

What an amazing song.

What a beautiful dance.

What Joyful Mud we are!