Monday, June 27, 2011
The thick, sweet scent of pine permeated the air – a cruel joke indeed. I attempted to walk up the hill and stand in the middle of where the giant pines once stood, but I succumbed to a certain weakness, which I have never experienced before.
No matter how hard I tried, I could not accept the loss of what felt like a part of me. I could not tolerate the void, the hole, the place where new light emphasized the truth of intent.
I walked amongst the daisies and lupine in hopes of finding cheer and inspiration as I often do, but I could not fully surrender. No matter where I stood or where I looked, my world was too altered; I was unable to find my center. The abundance of light in that one place caused me to wince; the acoustics of the wood thrush cascaded into the emptiness with an uncommon timbre.
I sentenced myself to the front yard where I would not be reminded, except for the aroma of pine pitch, which adhered to my core. I have woken up several mornings to the sound of gentle rain, enveloped in this blissful evergreen bouquet only to plummet into the reality of their demise.
I knew that I loved the trees and the enchanting pine grove; however I did not comprehend our direct connection, as if it were my lifeblood. I felt so fortunate to dwell in their magnificent presence, especially during a time in human history when Our Mother is suffering and in so much pain. Any day, night and season, I was able to retreat into the woods and listen to the quiet hush in the highest parts of the giant pines. To witness this sacred beauty in the woods was to witness hope and reconnect with my original purpose.
I finally made my way to the center of the pine grove ruins. I stood in its vast emptiness while the bugs viciously attacked me and the rain fell hard. I shed an abundance of tears and allowed the pain to surface in all of its ugliness and rage. Release was the only way for me to move on so that I could embrace the thought of the new growth of hardwood trees, a barn and field.
The approaching rumble of thunder nudged me down the hill towards the house. My breathing was shallow as the heavy hand of Sophia pressed against my chest; I could not utter a sound. I peeled away my wet clothes and soaked in a hot lavender bath surrounded by the light of a dozen flickering candles.
The following day I awoke with a fever, chills, bad cough and sore throat. My voice was gone and I was weak. It took over two weeks for this illness to pass; my health is just now returning. I was greatly uninspired and in despair after this loss.
Today was the first day that it really felt like summer. I have surrounded myself with hummingbird feeders – about ten or so scattered about strategically in the front yard. I sat in my red chair with my eyes closed listening to the steady beating of hummingbird wings whirring about. In fact, one hovered in front of me and we made eye contact for what seemed like a half a minute. I have chosen these little miracles to aid in my final healing process.
I will confess that I did not expect this event to affect me as it did. However, we are all a part of nature, some more aware and connected than others. I will never forget.
From Journal - Babies Breath (Nature)