Call Her Home
Why does it take us almost to the very end to get serious about our journey?
Why must there be a gun pointed at our heads in order to begin to arrive at the truth of things, to begin to digest the trauma and the agony and the hardship, so that we might lift the spirit upward into fuller redemption?
Why does the human race insist upon pretending that what this vacant culture says actually matters?
Why do people continue to place their faith outside of their own felt heart and deep knowing, giving their wisdom bodies over again and again to a force that would seek to annihilate them?
These are the questions I ponder as I look out upon our world today, heart heavy, truth naked, wars waging.
I am so tired and yet I also realize that there must be some way that I am not nearly tired enough, for I too engage in the bullshit, pretend the lies matter, engage the drama.
I want to know the field that Rumi speaks of, I want to remember the sweet mystery that I always knew to be true as the smallest child, I want to bring back the great goddess into this world, I want to dance the highest praise of her electric light, I want to help you see her radiance, that she pulsates even now as we forsake her, I want to help bring her back into the wild ring of this world, which is the only true song, which is the only real thing.
This is what matters.
The darkest hours coming.
This is what matters.
And yet here we are, all of us half taken over, so few holding the highest frequency of the living, remembering her sacred presence, most falling prey in their darkest hours to a thousand artificial ghosts waiting in the wings to devour us.
They are waiting, don’t you know?
One false move and they begin their putrid feast, bit by bit eating away at our humanity, our decency, our faith, our innocence, our hope, and most of all, our love.
This is the great battle that is now.
It is an intimate battle.
It is a private war, as much as we see it being waged on the most public of scales.
When will you take your mantle?
Will you wait till the very end to remember who you are?
Will you let the truth fester like a lie, and pretend that you do not feel it’s beautiful reality?
Will you disown those who betroth themselves to her, forsaking natures way until the very end, until the moment that you admit to yourself what we have done?
And for me, I know where my home is.
I know who I answer to.
I know where my true love lies, in the field beyond the pairs of opposites, every blade of grass ~ a pure miracle.
I call her home.