Grounding

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In the evening, the ground wraps herself around me, tucking me into

a partnered sleep

while I dream dreams and

work in the quiet background, underground.

No fuss, no muss, no standing on ceremony but

Silently weaving the way.

Sometimes, she pulls me into her

and sends me out through her

like aspen roots spreading across the lands.

The stillness masks the blood from the wounds of many,

sweat from the fevered hearts of most,

and tears for those who cannot shed their own.

When she asks me to bleed into her, I part my legs or

slice my body to reawaken the sleeping buffaloes and giants,

and warm temples of the mount and heart.

When she asks me to come into her core

and move with the fire

within,

we dance a slow dirge

while rebirthing ancestors and ancients

through man and mud, stone and sweat, dust and ash.

We shake mountains and men,

ride the wind and

dance through water

bringing the holy from the depths–of heart, of hearth and mantle–

into the deepest love there is.

 

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