It was such an amazingly lovely Autumn day, that I debated going to my class today. Yeah, I wanted to learn more about knitting, but the whole "sitting inside" thing tore at me. In the end, I went, and I was glad. I learned something new, sat in a circle with women (no one could have anticipated), and then had the joy of coming home along the Western side of the beautiful Potomac River. I love that river. It blesses my life every single day.
Pretend you're a river Pretend you are the mist who falls so fine, so gentle, that nothing separates water and air You are the rain who falls in sheets, explodes onto the ground to leave pocks and puddles You are the ground who receives this water, soaking it up, taking it in, carrying it deep inside You are the cracks and fissures where the waters accumulate, flow, fall to join more water and more in pools and rivers who move slowly through cavities, crevices, pores You are the sounds and silence of water seeping or staying still You are the meeting of wet and dry, the union of liquid and solid, where solids dissolve and liquids solidify You are the pressure who pushes water through seams You are the rushing water who bubbles from the earth You are a tiny pool between rocks You overflow, find your way to join others who, like you, are moving, moving You are the air at the surface of the water the joining of substantial and insubstantial the union of under and over, weight and not weight You are the riffle, the rapid, the tiny waterfall who turns water to air and air to water You are the mist who settles on the soil You are the plants who drink the mist, and you are the sun who warms and feeds them You are the fish who feed on insects, who feed on plants, who feed on soil, who feed on fish You are the fish who become soil, who become plants, who become insects, who become fish, who flow down the river You are the river who joins other rivers to become a new river, who is all the rivers, and something else You are the river You do not stop at the banks where liquid turns to solid You reach into the sky, and into the soil Water moves through rocks, comes up to form pools far from the fast flow where the rivers move together seeps down to join still waters beneath the surface waters who sleep and wake and sleep, and mingle with the stones who are the river too You are the river who is married to the mountains you have known since they were young who have given themselves to you, as you have given yourself to them You are the canyons you nestle into, each year deeper than the year before You are the forests who give you their fallen trees the meadows you flood and feed and they feed you back their fruits and fine insects who fly to your surface to be taken in by the fish who again with their owns bodies feed the meadows You are the river who feeds the ocean who feels the tides pushing and pulling against your mouth the waves mixing fresh and salt you are that intermingling, that is who you are that is who you have always been You are the river You have lived with volcanoes and glaciers You have been dammed by lava and ice You've carried log jams so large and so old that they grow their own forests, with you running beneath You have lived through droughts and floods You are the river You miss the salmon, you miss the sturgeon, you miss the ocean you miss the meadows, you miss the forests, you miss the beavers, and otters and bears you miss the humans You are the river, you want them back You want to feel the tickling of the sturgeon and the thrusting of the Salmon You want to carry food and soil to the ocean You want to cover the meadows as you used to and you want to give yourself to them and you want them to give themselves to you as you have done forever and as they have too
Now, pretend you are a forest You are the bark of trees and the hairy moss who hangs from them You are the duff, who becomes soil, who becomes trees, who becomes seeds, who becomes squirrels, who become owls who become slugs, who become shrews, who become soil You are the trees who cannot live without the fungi, who cannot live without the voles, who cannot live without the trees You are the fire, who cannot live without the trees, who cannot live without the woodpeckers, who cannot live without the beetles, who cannot live without the fire You are the wind who speaks through the trees, and the trees who speak through the wind You are the birds who sing, and the birds who do not You are the salamanders, the ferns, the millipedes the bumble bees who sleep on flowers, waiting for the morning to warm you so you can eat and fly on home You to have lived through drought and flood, hot and cold and you too miss the salmon you miss the owls, the bears you miss the rivers you miss the people, the humans you want them all back you need them back or you will die
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."