Midsummer

In the valley of the white oaks, time is measured by shifting clouds and the zip of blue dragonflies.

The landscape and time itself seem to undulate in unison, as if I have walked into a Van Gogh painting. Isn't Earth the first ecstatic artist? She who expresses her Self through living places and beings? And aren't all of our creations and expressions inspired by this life we are given?

 

When I am here, the present moment seems to stretch into eternity, in the midst of an intensely mortal beauty holding me in its spell — suspended, part of one long, deep, sustained breath. The world breathes. You can see and feel her breathing ... your home.

You can rest now, in the cupped hand of the world. Finally, you are here, in a place you didn't know you were looking for. Here, as you were as a child, when each midsummer day lasted a forever; each day bright and new and full of wonder. You remember, because you are still able to feel that wonder, on such a day and in such a place as this ... a vast garden, a waking dream, a soulscape.

An utterly worldly and Otherworldly beauty, which are one and the same. A heaven and an earth, which are one and the same.

Rest, now, in the eros of gravity holding you close to the beating heart of this world. There is a path to be walked. A sky to expand into. A ground to carry you.

The eternal valley breathes, expressing its being in unfolding, dazzling flight paths, outflung branches, green wind speech, blossoms of blue wild indigo, overflowing gifts, the buzz of bumble bees.

Gather pollen while you may! For you, too, are gathered, into the hands of the Beloved Earth. You, too, love, and are loved in return.

 

You, too, are sacred, and divine, and live forever.