Esoteric gifts from within, we know what to do with them. But we resist and wallow in the negative until we can take no more. We then need a wake-up call to remember our primal inheritance. Yes, even we can be reached and touched by all living organisms. The strong February sun, with the sounds of the early songbirds, calling to us, it’s a sweet sound, a cry. The ever-patient ancestral elementals will go to extremes to call us back into the fold and reteach us who we truly are.
You can see and hear as they call through the concrete jungles of hate, rage, war, violence, and division. Our only savior is to reconnect to ancient earth wisdom that has been with us since the beginning of time. To all who lived before us. We must go into the circle and get swirled and washed in the beauty to come out of the mean streets. This wisdom has been imparted to our spirits and souls. It is innate, our inheritance.
We have stood on these shores before. The owl and the hawk have called our names; we recognize them. We must not ignore them. The nature spirits and elementals, the spider’s web… holds us in positions of knowledge and power. Power to free ourselves from the grips of darkness and despair. We are in the constant flow and changing ways of the cyclical nature of life. We are all one. We have to acknowledge this force at work.
As children, we conjured unknowingly and easily, impulsively. We ran into the woods, we gathered our tools, the sheddings of nature, both dead and alive. We placed them in a basket or cupped them in our hands and offered a prayer. We raised our arms and danced barefoot in the sticky pine-needled paths… we threw our gatherings as an action to free us and claim our inheritance. Freedom. Toss your prayer up to the gods and goddesses… Our ancestral esoteric gift of healing… our innate mechanism to transform and see the light as we crawl into healing once again.
As we age, we have developed our craft. No one can take this ancient ancestral elemental and earth wisdom from us, no circumstance, no action, no defeat. If you close your eyes, you will see the cyclone when you walk the streets of despair, stop, and ask yourself. What happened to these people? Did they let go of their earth wisdom? Does everyone have it? Maybe not? The late February sun at noon, and her songbirds call me again. They call through the busy traffic streets, as I walk through my neighborhood and visit stores throughout my community… I feel the collective pain and sorrow. A heaviness that cannot be denied.
Look for the wisdom in the juxtapositions; this is where the songbird will be singing… a beautiful voice can be heard. Nature, a fierce force, will break through all the ugliness that once again just barreled through the mean streets of Minneapolis, Minnesota.
We are tired people, those of us living in the city. We have to go back in the circle before we spin forth into healing. The lost souls are here to teach us how lucky we are. We can’t afford to waste our esoteric gifts. The lost souls hear the songbirds… Are their songs enough to penetrate the deep pits of fentanyl and methamphetamine? So many questions, so little hope. It’s a sad state. I am grateful to recognize the call into the light. It’s easy to numb ourselves and become bitter. We must hold on. Somehow, we must return to the conjuring place, with a childlike impulse where miracles happen. The only place to start. We heard the call. I thank the February songbirds for this beautiful reminder.
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