Dearest Readers,
Summer has just past its peak in this little corner of the world. It has been much too dry of late but we have been spared the wildfires (so far). The forest outside my window is a palette of greens. Birds twit. Bees buzz. Squirrels and chipmunks scamper. It’s idyllic.
Then I read the news headlines and I feel heartbroken and helpless. Anger and sadness ebb and flow. I listen for the voices who are calling for justice and peace. I look for the activists who persevere. I watch Nature rebuild. We go on.
Recently, in a contemplative moment, a memory returned to me: when I was three or four, I climbed down into a hole in our backyard that had been dug for a fence post. The hole had been covered over with a board and we’d been told not to go near it but what did I do? I pulled the board away and shimmied down into the hole, wedging myself in so tightly that the fire department had to come and dig me out.
The event was traumatic for my parents. For me, it was the opposite. I remember only being in the hole with my face gently pressing on the wall of cold, damp clay, typical of Yukon soil. There was no fear. I felt happy and safe.
What possessed me to defy the parental no-no and subject myself to an emergency rescue? Did I want to see what would happen? Was I trying to get away from a stressful home life? Did I wish to disappear from the world? All of the above?
I’m curious about that little girl who found solace in being trapped in the earth, breathing in the mineralic smell of the clay. When the memory resurfaced, I wondered if she might be trying to tell me something today.
Dig in.
Go deep.
Breathe with the Earth.
With the world such as it is, these simple directives feel crucial. In the face of despair, I commit to maintaining the spiritual practices and soul work that bring the change I want to see in the world.
Does your younger self have wisdom for you, too?
On the path,
Celia
