Faith in the Grand Re-Seeding:

In this time of collapse of old worlds and monumental transition, we must think like seeds.

Faith in the Grand Re-Seeding:

Some days the noise of the world weighs too heavy on our hearts...the mournful echoes of unspeakable acts, done by those who walk the world with armored broken hearts.

I hear you.

I see you.

I sit here beside you and breathe.

Let us help each other find the headwaters of our breath together.

May the feathers of condolence ease our senses.

Inhale.

Exhale.

When the world seems to weigh to heavy on my heart, I know nothing else but to return here, to a humble handful of seeds. They have been my trellis of hope, talismans of creative and restorative transformation, my most generous and beloved teachers...

Like unassuming teosinte seeds...do they know that within their tiny seedcoats holds endless potential and possibilities? That whole prisms and rainbows of sustenance could be birthed from within?

In this time of collapse of old worlds and monumental transition, we must think like seeds.

We must breathe past the gut-wrenching fear of total destruction, for just beyond that precipice is life renewed, seedcoats coming undone to sprout the endless creative potential of what is possible for our children and grandchildren. It is just beneath the surface of the enormity of our grief at witnessing the accumulation of a million betrayals.

Any kind of change process is one of immense growth and it can be so excruciatingly uncomfortable. And we are all collectively going through an immense change threshold.

We feel such a spectrum of emotion when we process rapid change, digest life's complexity, and metabolize all that everyone is having to move through in these times.

Simultaneously it brings up old ancestral blood memory of times of uncertainty, adversity and grief, the kind that we hold in our marrow and the tiny pools of water in our spine that was handed down from our grandmothers who endured so much.

It brings out the best and the worst of us.

When I feel this way, I have to remember to lean deeper into practices of stitching my tattered quilt of ancestral memory, lean into the ancestral brilliance we all have to respond to change despite the unearthed undigested trauma.

For me, it can be as simple as sinking my hands into the earth and remember our innate resilience, our capacity to adapt and grow into new forms. This is my embodied prayer. To bow low to the earth, and grow food and seed that can be shared in our community to help nourish us through these changing times. To dream with the seeds that hold endless potential in this Midwinter. To tune my senses to trust against all odds that life will indeed flourish into another season, despite the death and decay all around.

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I have apprenticed myself to these wise plants that have been growing me and nourishing our family. Their benevolence is unmatched. They call us home.

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They whisper to me a little love poem to encourage us as our seed coats to crack open and we grow into newer versions of ourselves each season. The seeds show us the pathway... They courageously and blindly in dark soil sprout into something they have never before been, something that makes them transform from their intimate immensity of a small spark of life into something so big and perhaps unfathomable to their tiny bodies.

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They use their creativity and innovation to move through what seems like death underneath the soil into complete transformation. I will forever be indebted to these gracious plants, who continue to grow me as a human who each season has a bit more courage to make my life a love poem to all those, seen and unseen, who make this brief and wild life possible.

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Don't despair. Those seeds of hope are sprouting. I can hear the seed coats cracking with the tears and emboldened voices of our own prayers... They are taking root in the seedsongs of generations held in that reverent inhale of excitement when we see the first sprouts emerging from the field we planted.

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These are prophesy times, our Indigenous ancestors spoke of them. They told us to find the kindred ones who are your teachers; apprentice yourself to the seeds, the water, the soil, the trees, the stars, the birds and ocean .your heart beats in promise to uphold the agreements that live in your blood and bones...these wise ones will help us find our way home. #remembering as #resistance