"Everything is clearer than you've ever seen it"--April thoughts during times of pandemic

Eve Ensler spoke at the 2019 Bioneers Conference. Her reading of her “Apology to Mother Earth” was one of the most profound moments of the conference.

“I press my bruised body down on your grassy belly, breathing me in and out. I have missed you, Mother. I have been away so long. I am sorry. I am so sorry. 

I am made of dirt and grit and stars and river, skin, bone, leaf, whiskers and claws. I am a part of you, of this, nothing more or less. “

As I drifted in and out of sleep in the early morning hours a steady tinkling entered my consciousness followed by a memory of moist leaves, bare feet and water rushing. I slowly entered the waking world and heard the undeniable sound of dripping outside my bedroom window – RAIN – ah, the blessed sound of water falling from the sky.

Poem by Rachel Baird on the subject of evolving out of a duality consciousness, and the spreading of unity consciousness-our natural state.

by Timothy P McLaughlin

I waited and waited a great while
before I knew enough
about listening
to hear the bright ones
speak,
and only faintly at first,
so I wasn’t sure if anything
had happened at all.

By Rachel Baird

I am writing from the Holy Isle
Just off the eastern shore of Lamlash, 
Isle of Arran, Scotland.
During Green Tara prayer hour
I let the waves of chant wash over me and quickly moved into a lucid dream.

I dream of the whale:
Out in the dark waters
We are capsized by forgetting,
She swims to me
And puts my hand in her mouth,
Begs further exploration -
I feel the brittle curve inside her sinew
Like playing a harp
Or building a wattle,
Then choose to climb this baleen fence,

By MR Baird 

I have descended out of the Northwest
Back into civilization
Sounds of cars and jets,
Weed eaters now hurt my head,
I don’t belong here anymore
Now that I think of him,
That stag,

By Lauren Valle
To My Enlightened Self

Silent self, self made of stone
Self that witnessed the birth of the ocean and
bathed in the torrents of mucus and blood
Self that melts the boundaries between her own beauty
and the beauty of the world

By Timothy P McLaughlin 

Here, in the wild, where there’s almost no chance
of another human stopping through,
where there’s no hopping round
patterns of perception or acceptance, 

By Timothy P. McLaughlin

In the effort to become more like water,

I’ve taken to walking the dried arroyos of New Mexico.

Gliding along their twisting, sandy trails,

following the water’s worn tracks round trees and brush

and endless rock,