You and I have been together
since the sun first glinted in the shallows
beneath your wading skirt and laughing children,
around campfires, torturous loves,
over countless rivers and mountains,
before the poisoning and earthquakes
when the seas were smaller
and our original home intact;
after a thousand mornings
while rivers yet flow and tides awaken
I call out to you from this city street
above the rain soaked trees
singing the voice of our long, long love
reaching out as you give birth.

Quieting the tempest of thought
inner seas begin to calm
the weight of expectation sinking
waves of animosity laying down
until surface mirrors the open sky
a deeper presence within the Earth
rising through bedrock and lifted
to the temple finding form
in breadth of water
still before the morning sun.

Despite the storm
and rough unanswerable seas
with night sky like smoke and vapor
we take our bearings
from the pulse of tide
perceiving signals amidst a fury
knowing from within
where the stars are pointing
moving forward by inner light.

Amidst the change and no change
the waves of geology, finance,
politics and war
one small stone sits
alone in my inner temple
a solitary cairn
marking direction
speaking no sound
just the quietly assuring
granite of one long ago
and yet to come moment
held in my heart, unmoving.

I have this thing in common with birds
we like to find a perch and watch the rising sun
to feel the warmth and greet new light
with native elders, monks and sisters
round the globe, training their eyes
to be with Source and thank the Mother
in a simple gesture, a practice
amidst the fury of upheaval
rising with the morning
to the Goddess in Her many forms
beginning the day a witness to Her beauty.

Thick clouds and cold air
confuse the expectation
as if we’re turning retrograde
toward winter;
talk in a coffee shop
about weird weather,
looking to the sky for light;
in the Gulf of Mexico
Gaia’s artery lays open
altering the sea irrevocably;
fish and birds are witness
to a threshold crossed;
sky brightens through the clouds
but an eerie sense remains
of a strange new time;
Gaia integrates, this is nature
but who will attend Her labor?
The wet leaves receive what comes
and out to sea there is a cry,
the earth trembling;
She is giving birth.

The Earth may be tired of giving birth
to countless leaves and birds
from the fountain where we drink
the daylight of our one precious life
while losing source in our crowded cities
where roadside trees provide flowers
for their own funeral.
Perhaps She is not tired
perhaps it is only me
my feeling of loss for Her altar
yet in a shallow lake today
beside a highway two swans appeared
one nesting a muddy trash strewn island
the other fishing in the brown water
and I heard Her say yes
to all Her many children including me
She loves us whether we know or care
and to all who live
in Her one mysterious home
She simply says yes.