I go outside and the ground softens under my feet to welcome me. Here, we walk without shoes. Here, we never eat alone. We gather and pray to the undoubtable God of our Hearts.
And we are Mothers to the Earth and to each other. We bleed with the darkened Moon and birth new life at dawn when the light is still and soft.
When the night trickles in like dark waters over us, we entangle ourselves with the men we love so much for they are our backbone, the seabed that contains our waves and shifts. They are our solidity. There is no doubt in our loving. We dance in reciprocity, our bodies always an offering.
Ours is a house of belonging, and you, too, are welcome here.
We cook with fire what the Earth has given us, and you will never eat alone again. And can you hear our singing from where you are? Can you see the tips of our fingers reaching up, up, pulsating with aliveness. We have built this Village of light, at home with the forest, neighbouring the unpredictable elements of Nature.
And so it is, and so it is. So it is.
***
I was told to stop believing in such possibility. Yet here it is, so clear, and real, tangible like the crisp air of mornings that cracks with possibility. And I know, the soil is preparing to welcome us soon, oozing with fertility. I know my dream is dreamt by others too, I can feel them in their longing as they can feel me in mine.
We are grieving all the dreams given to us that were not really ours, all the impositions and demands and layers we have taken upon ourselves that were not really who we are. Grieving and creating the new. Creating with the yearning and the reaching for each other.
How can I not believe when it is here, my world is here now, happening, I can hold it between my palms like the face of a newborn, stunned by the miraculous.
***
The House of Belonging
David Whyte
I awoke
this morning
in the gold light
turning this way
and that
thinking for
a moment
it was one
day
like any other.
But
the veil had gone
from my
darkened heart
and
I thought
it must have been the quiet
candlelight
that filled my room,
it must have been
the first
easy rhythms
with which I breathed
myself to sleep,
it must have been
the prayer I said
speaking to the otherness
of the night.
And
I thought
this is the good day
you could
meet your love,
this is the grey day
someone close
to you could die.
This is the day
you realise
how easily the thread
is broken
between this world
and the next
and I found myself
sitting up
in the quiet pathway
of light,
the tawny
close grained cedar
burning round
me like fire
and all the angels of this housely
heaven ascending
through the first
roof of light
the sun had made.
This is the bright home
in which I live,
this is where
I ask
my friends
to come,
this is where I want
to love all the things
it has taken me so long
to learn to love.
This is the temple
of my adult aloneness
and I belong
to that aloneness
as I belong to my life.
There is no house
like the house of belonging.
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