My Sacred Sorrow

Trees as nuns keeping watch – praying – going about the work of servanthood. I am complicit in what is about to happen to them. We rip the seams trees have sewn since the beginning. This deeper ground of existence, this antidote for fragmentation. A movement on my part is needed to honor this fertile ground of existence. To atone and commune. I won't be here when they cut down the trees. They will be standing tall and strong in the morning and be gone when I return from work. There will be a little less silence when they are gone. I'm so sorry. I am so, so sorry.

Douglas Christie speaks of silence as a field of energy which grounds one when descending into it. Yet, we are the noisemakers. We add the machines and employ the words and enter social scenes. I'm suffocating at times, like I cannot take a deep breath.

What is the deepest thing in me? How empty can I be?

Along with sorrow, a sense of urgency has entered my bloodstream. The long nightmare of being separated from my own body and its connection to nature needs to end. We are not just passing through.