poem, women

Earth’s Cauldron- an epic poem

The last day of Winter in the Northern Hemisphere, 2020
Boulder Beach, Lake Mead National Monument, Boulder City, Nevada

Dear Ones,

This is Gail’s friend and mentee Becky Suzik here. I am writing to extend Gail’s wishes to offer the beginnings of an epic poem we write together. You are invited to play and add your poems, photos, art pieces to “Earth’s Cauldron”.

Gail said to me today, “We are in an unknown time. A time that is not old, and not new, but completely unknown.”  This after saying yesterday how much we are deeply in need play right now.

Please accept this loving, playful and soulful invitation to contribute to this poem beginning with our elders Gail and Janis Clark-Monaco’s entries. Read the beginning entries “Earth’s Caldron” and add your contributions to the comments section below or email us.

We wonder: how might you make sense of our hurting world right now, through writing, artmaking, creating, playing in our collaborative poem?

Thank you for the gifts you have brought to the world, for simply being you, and here to witness the unknown. Thank you for all of the ways you are showing up, hurting deeply, loving and responding.

LET’S WRITE AN EPIC POEM TOGETHER!

Love, Becky, Gail & Janis

 

THE SUN SHINES

The Sun will shine on my natal Moon today
Heralding for the 70th time since I was born
At 0° Aries, Equinox brings equality and humility
Reset to Meg’s question: Who do we choose to be?

Casablanca blinks brightly above the “closed” sign
Home state Idaho in our sights guided by a shadow ―
Like 100 years of other superbugs, this one is a gift
Certainly if we see the gift as connection, we will rise.

Perhaps that’s the ‘who’ I want to be, one who ascends
Nine months ago my consciousness insisted I become useful ―
When initiation gradually came to me this became my mantra
All circumstances considered, I choose to be useful.

Thank you Meg Wheatley for the conversation about collapse
Funny how words prepare us, heart words now spoken
Will rise through this crack in the world, ideas will incubate
In our inner worlds seeking fertile soils to sprout and flower.

Pray every day as a death doula, one who summons re-birth
Earth Goddess Gaia alerted us about tipping points ―
Overshoots, some of us read those red flags as warnings
We began imagining a more beautiful world of possibilities.

We beat our ancient drums of mourning as loses mount
Our collective dance must include a celebration of our labors
Call out the midwives, a birthing comes our way
Birth always requires a Ceremony as does Equinox.

My beloved humans, seek and find your umbilical cords,
Any new journey of initiation can feel inhospitable,
Like a birth canal, this pregnant threshold offers a gateway
Tune your brain with drum and rattle, listen, listen.

After Ceremony, in the midst of grief, midwives gather
In Sacred Circles all around the globe, intentions emerge
To choose well, to find service, to become more useful
Play your Venus card, tell each other what you value.

Welcome love into these conversations, it may be all there is
If you want more, welcome generosity and humility
Venus needs Mars, so welcome action into our circles
Begin to visualize collective consciousness shifting.

 

Like a call and response, her friend began spinning her into Ceremony:

MOTHER TREE

Cedar, Western Red they say. Mother, I say.
When I touched the shredded bark,
A shot of electric current greeted me. Noticeable, but not harmful
I looked over my shoulder, and up to see how Sun penetrated these woods.
Here is power. Wisdom. 300 years old.

Ten minutes to walk around this Cedar, listening, kissing, dreaming.
I spread my arms and placed my breasts against her bark,
The way to channel 300 years of wise experience is to ask questions.
This is where relationship begins.
“What do you think Great Mother. Are humans going to continue?”
―Coyote knew to be blunt, direct.
“Not in their current configuration,
Humans will not get through their grief unless they grow close in spirit,
Closer to Trees. You could show the way, old woman.”

The spirits were laughing. “It’s true. Losing capacity sharpens other abilities.”
This is the Elder learning curve: I received Tree’s gifts.
One of those had no limits―grief will be endless.
“Dance for me,” Tree asked.
Knees not what they used to be, hips … oh dear Goddess.
“Would you settle for a little waltz, Mother Cedar?”
I danced a merry-go-around with Mother Tree,
Emptying and allowing joy to rise like the Moon.
Reversed directions and rose like the Sun,
Looking up and looking down. Celebrating and honoring
With little rituals, this is the way forward.
A crow cawed. “Hello to you too, Crow.”
“These are my people.” It was true.
“You are all Ancestors of each other, you left Crows behind to call your name.”
“How many people have danced for you, Cedar?”
None for 50 years, before that, only a few.

Divine thoughts flowed from this Tree.
I began to weep, a gift of moment or grief?
“All things simultaneous.”
I laid out to touch Earth full length and spread my arms wide.

 

women

Spinning a New Thread

 

 

Spinning A New Thread

Dearhearts! First a little story.
Remembering is necessary to becoming.

Way back in the old, old days, they called her Goddess. Each afternoon, while they rested from the ways of women, cleaning everything, watching and caring for children, growing food, and tending flocks of goats and sheep, they gathered in their square and sat in a circle. Spinners, weavers, potters, healers, gardeners, and old women wanting to play again. The oldest tended the youngest and play was the way.
Their hands were always busy, these women, our Ancestors. When they gathered, some one always invited Goddess Gaia into their sacred space, and when they disbursed, they offered thanks. She was Earth Mother to these ancient women, she taught them to care and to share. They honored her essence and invited her guidance. Talk was casual the first round and serious if it needed to be. One woman at a time shared her thoughts about how to improve their lives together.

The story-line went way back. Talking had been the way of their ancestors. Along this river, in this circle, every woman knew she belonged to this place, to the Earth, and to these women. For every change-of-season celebration, those who wandered received a welcome-back feast. Delighted to speak of her adventures, the wanderer felt changed but easily found her place again in the story-line. Remembering traveled back in time more than 8,000 years. Probably it was twice that long.

As one who carries stories of ways as old as dirt, these images draw up a longing from the soles of my feet. I’ve been earthing, walking barefooted on dear Mother Earth – because Polly taught me this – and because spring is here. Late afternoon temperatures invite remembering. Maybe you’re like me, longing for the feel and the high honor of sitting in a circle. It’s time, Dearhearts, to gather and dance on the Earth, she needs our undivided attention. It’s time for women to talk again.

You’re invited: If you are nearby, bring a Sister and come to the Solstice celebration here at Sweet Pea Landing. I am one who has wandered and feel like creating a celebration for Goddess Gaia. I need to tell a story and to hear a story. This is the nature of our belonging.

Fine women’s stories of inspiration travel along our story-lines. Earth needs her women to return to circle, to come back to this old tradition. June 21 is a Friday, in the southern hemisphere winter has come and in the northern hemisphere the opposite. Summer was a long time coming! Gather your people wherever you are and practice the ancient arts of circling, earthing, belonging. Be one of Earth’s Weavers.

If you have read down this far, send me an email to receive more details. You are my people and I have love and finger food to share.

Longing for Circle,
In love with the Earth,
oxoxo Gail