I love the smell of freshly cut grass.
And I wonder, does the grass regret being cut?
Does it feel stunted by our need to manicure it to our aesthetic taste?
Does the pleasure of my sense come at the grass’ expense?

When the Tulib bulb is placed in moist Earth,
And covered by more soil,
Does it react like me, and panic in that dark place?
Or does it know that it’s being given exactly what it needs to thrive and grow…
When the first shoot begins to move upward through that dark unknown,
Does it question its purpose if a stone in the soil makes its upward movement less smooth?

In times of drought, do the growing things think…
“I wish I’d never come to Earth…”

When a forest becomes old and overgrowth promotes decay,
Does the forest question its life on Earth?

Mother welcomes all back to her womb.
Grass clippings,
The Tulip who doesn’t make it to the surface,
Every bit of forest whose life is done.

She welcomes me too. The parts
whose life was only meant to last a little bit.
The parts who don’t want to do it anymore. The parts
who have finally realized there’s nothing I can do
to usurp the Divine unraveling.

Am I so self centered
that I need my life to outdo
Mother’s support,
Father’s guidance,
Grandmother’s love,
Grandfather’s nurturing?

Like a mouse I scurry along
seeking a secret
path out of the maze of Earth.

And it’s so inconvenient when I bump into other mice doing the same!

There’s got to be a way over one of the shrubs that
make it so this is always the way I have to go.

And I find the great secret within.
It’s not up,
It’s down,
Into the great unknown
where sunlight is barely remembered by the creatures of Earth
Who retreated there long before
mazes were even built for mice.

And in that sacred cave,
Gaia’s Divine womb,

I sit with the Goddess who says to the moon,
“It’s time to make the waves big now.”

And I see,
the world is too full to talk about.
The magic of Mother’s arms spread so wide and far,
It’s easy to forget she is the one moving them.

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