Recently, I was speaking with a woman who lives in a remote part of the country, and after the election she felt an urgency to know if she should stay there, and what should she do, how should she be? These were pressing questions, until she had a dream that showed her a way of being that would nourish not just the land where she lives, but the community around her.
Not long after, I had a short dream in which this woman and I saw hundreds of native grasses in containers, ready to be planted.
From my understanding, the native grasses are the wisdom that is ready for planting in our lives. Native grasses have deep root systems, and provide food and shelter for a diversity of wildlife. And they filter impurities from water before it flows into creeks and rivers. They represent a way of being, a sense of belonging to place. To ‘plant’ these grasses, we need to listen inwardly, to make an inner space for them.
I once met a Pomo caretaker of a nursery of native grasses. As he passed by tall, feathery grasses that lined the path, he touched the fronds lightly, with such love. This has the same feeling of the work we do in our circles, and in our own hearts.
I share this dream because I believe it applies to all of us, as we wonder what to do, how to care for life and the Earth. As I listen to women share about their lives, and how they are seeking a way to be in this time, I am aware that an innate wisdom is accessible in the most ordinary way.
I recently walked in a nearby park, to find solace and quiet. The knocking of a woodpecker against the trunk of an old tree, the cry of a red-tailed hawk flying from treetop to treetop bought a deep joy. A silent thank you, thank you, streamed out. This later reminded me of a woman’s dream told so many years ago. In the dream she heard these words: Nature is my church.
I understand this. And yet, I was drawn to attend a small women’s circle in a church nearby. This was different for me. There was much speaking, and little space for silence or a deep breath. I returned home, and decided it wasn’t for me. But when I awoke the following day, these words came out of such depths – Rise up for Wisdom.
I knew immediately it meant that I had to return and speak with the facilitator, to ask, simply, if we could introduce a little silence into the circle. She welcomed the possibility.
We are in such a rapid time of change and polarity and the unknown haunts us all with its lack of stepping-stones forward. But I do sense that this wisdom that belongs to each of us, a deep inner knowing of what to do and how to be, is waiting for our trust.
Balm for an anxious mind. It seems love is a patient gardener.
Thank you, Kittie.
Driving home a while ago, it came to me to enquire into the nature of the qualities of the deep feminine. Being a curious soul, I love enquiry and this is how it emerged for me…the first quality to come forward has been ‘waiting’, and I discovered that it is not about waiting for something, but a fundamental quality, a feeling of deep, and ancient, spaciousness. In fact a wonderful place to abide in and, much to my astonishment, from which trust arises.
Your reflection that waiting is a fundamental quality of spaciousness is so insightful. It’s like opening a door. Thank you for sharing this with us.
Reading this, Claire, I was reminded of your wedding. As we waited for you to arrive, Ailbe spoke about the deep meaning of waiting, and how important it was that we were asked to wait.