I see sacred world alive all around me, and in and of me. This river will keep on flowing, leaves falling. Even over our pavement and park benches and car windshields. Rocks, in their perfect sculpture of mighty boulders will continue to chip, morph and flake. Even beside the highways. Regardless of the warning signs of landslides. We have learned to drive with caution.
We must learn to live on this Earth again in harmony. A state of allowing. We must create the conditions and space for nature to work and flow in her abundance. Not suppressing, quieting, or paving over her unconditional giving.
Sacred earth is likened to a beating heart. No matter what war takes place on these grasses and hills, flowers still bloom in April. And in us humans, the storms of heartbreak, addiction, and grief may take us over. They may rip us to shreds, leaving us in a heap on the kitchen floor sobbing. (Again and again!) But the constant rhythm of breath never stops, just like the stream of water descending from the mountain into the valley. This breath is like an unconditional mirror, rejecting none. Its place is only guiding us back to this rooting of reality. Guiding us back to a space of homeostasis. Harmony. Synchronising to the surrender that is aways present. The act of downstream motion.
Even the apparent storms are not only part, but are home to this perfect and sacred song of life.