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Terra Mater

The earth speaks. She is always communicating - sending out messages on the wind and the waves. She talks with weather and all the wisdom of having existed for four and a half billion rotations of the sun, or there abouts. The earth whispers love songs on a night-time summer breeze, and shouts out warnings in unseasonal storms and ferocious fires. She tells us that she will do what she can to survive, that harming her will only lead to the demise of this human incarnation. She will fight back against her children like the ancient gods fought back against theirs. But she will never abandon us, she will only hold us tighter to her. She will change our form into earth that gradually sinks and compresses to be closer to her heart.

I tell her that I have forgotten what it was like to be dust. But she tells me that dust is what I am, that never changed, and dust is what I always will be. I tell her I am confused and scared. She tells me not to worry, that she will never let me go.

She suggests that I breathe deeply. And I do.

The earth speaks. When the sun falls behind the hills and the traffic no longer obscures her voice I hear her in the night sounds. Her lullabies soothe me to sleep and her stories fill my dreams. In the mornings, as I wander my garden, she sometimes appears to me as a butterfly fluttering its wings. She says "here I am, look at me, look at how wondrous I can be!" and I marvel at the exquisite fragility and beauty. Other times, mostly in the late afternoons of sticky summers, she rages overhead in dark clouds and shouts with an electric tongue "You have no power over me!" Because she says that sometimes we need reminding.

She is the one who giveth and who taketh away. She is the one from which the many spring. She is a spinner, a weaver, an artist of unmatched skill. She feeds us. She nurtures. She kills. There is nothing more beautiful or clever, or divine. There is nothing more intricately engineered or complex. There is only her. Our source. Our mother. Our home.

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