GREEN MOSS

The Earth, Mother Earth, is heavy with child and woefully ill. Who tends her as a loving, giving, whole and integrated being? What will she bring to birth?

Beneath that massive, swollen belly, her water broke, spilling, spilling - everywhere, over days, months, pooling anywhere, here and there, heedless of its path. Blown by the wind, she broke as her children pressed in upon her, & the waters swirled upon the wind and pooled around her mounds and valleys where naught was water found before. She shook with pain, unable to control herself, and mud slid, covering her people, their works, their villages.

Mother Earth cried the harder, without thought, tears everywhere, until her shaking was so violent, her swollen belly threw off whatever lay upon her. She trembles still with silent tears, the tremors inside splitting her skin, as she accepts the remains of all who died. Inflamation and frost bite assault her on either side. Her body now scorched and battered with violence, her blood cries out from the dirt and the rocks scream to the heavens.

Her balance falters and shifts as the battering ceases not. Earthly magnetism wavers, diminishes. Has she passed this way before? Her labor pains grow greater. Who will tend her as she cries, as she trembles, as she burns with fever and shivers with chills, as she hurts beyond all telling? Will our Mother fall into the dust of depleted uranium as she stumbles? If so, how will she breathe?

Mother Earth, what comes to birth to dwell among us? What must you do to overcome the treachery that would destroy your child? What can we give you? What can we do to love you into peace?

May peace reign! 'Tis the Season.

Syndicate content