Belonging

The feeling of not belonging does not belong to you.   The feeling that as your face acquires lines and texture and interest that somehow it becomes less beautiful, is the same energy that drives you to consume poison. To consume poison through food, through pharmaceuticals that divorce you from sensation, to consume poison through a sense of competition, the want to cut each other down, to cut each other up to scramble over some crumb. Self-hatred does not belong to you. It is not of you.   How did it appear? How did it arrive? How did it build a house behind your eyes? How did you see that other woman not as friend or as support but as a threat? How did you feel so much upheaval in your body imagining how you are judged by that man? How did your eyes become swords that would clash with anyone who crossed your path? How did you become so afraid? This fear is not yours. It does not belong to you.   It belongs to us and it does not belong to us. When we buy into the cultural story of domination, subjugation, when these are the stories we tell, we feed collective fear. It eats greedily out of our hands as we type away angrily in emails and social media. Every curse on another, the other driver, the other political party, the other that we thought did us harm, feeds this fear. I’s body grows large and it seeks a place to dwell, a vehicle to drive, a dominion to conquer.   You, ancient being, are of the Earth. You are of the Earth. You are like Her. As She is a soil that receives all without question, that grows beauty unending, so too the fibers of your sweet being are ready to embrace, ready to reveal. When the Earth is weakened through neglect, when no one nourishes Her spirit, the resilience, the discernment also weakens. She becomes barren and cracked and soon there are simply piles of trash where daisies once grew, where insects created kingdoms, where the trees would speak in hushed tones to one another. Her strongholds become insecure. We are like Her. Her body is our body, so literally. Our bodies make Her body. The skin that sloughs off of us, our constant shed, creates Her body. Are we are made from Her body. Even the poison food that could be confused with plastic adhesive can somehow trace its origins back to Her. She is ancestor. We are ancestor.   Fear is not of us. This fear that makes us feel as if we are an accident bumping around is something we said yes to, in a desire to survive. Born from Love we were but born into a world that could not always tolerate that brilliance, we learned how to play the game. We forgot we were beautiful and instead focused on learning how to become beautiful. You see? We do not need to know the tricks, the smoke and mirrors. We only need to re-member what we are.   It is said, it’s not what happened that is all that important. It’s how we tell the story. The story that gets told again and again is what matters in the end. When we tell stories of fear and disconnect, when we repeat, zombie-like, that we can’t see a way forward, we feed the collective fear body. And then it homes itself in us. We begin to loathe each other. We begin to loathe ourselves.   We are made not just of Earth but of creative flow itself. We are the storytellers. The time has come to articulate a new curriculum. Multidimensional beings require a multidimensional education. They require multidimensional healing.   The competition ends when we decide to walk away from it. The fear ends when we compost it in the Earth through Human Medicine, when we burn the fire through ritual, ceremony, honesty, vulnerability and gratitude. The time is coming to an end when the torture of aloneness dominates. No longer will we feel estranged even when we walk through our own houses, even when we sit with our children. This ends now. It ends the moment we sit in a circle. It ends the moment we let ourselves feel pain and from the feeling place, make a compassionate choice to go deeper. It ends the moment we hold the gaze of another long enough to see past the story we conjured. We see all the way down to the aching beauty of grief.   When what we shed is the ‘supposed to’, the artificially generated, saccharine and machinist duties and routines, we unearth the truth of our belonging. For far too long we have felt alien. We feel we don’t quite fit in, awkward somehow in our gestures and ways. The plastic sheen of media suggests that anything less than a current standard of perfection and precision is what implies mastery. But the more we shed, the deeper we dig into the natural rhythms to which we truly belong. We source home in every moment. And ‘perfect’ becomes a word that doesn’t make sense. Even ‘balance’ slips out of importance. And it is only me singing my birth song and listening for yours.   I can testify. I was one of these creatures, so energetically sensitive, so feeling myself to be apart, the lone wolf in any pack. But as I began to understand the voice of the Earth, as I heard Her voice in my body and responded a little more bravely each time, I felt a deep ease settle in that seemed so familiar and also radically new. I began to tune to the spiritual viscera of my energetic body, began to nourish, began to leverage my days and nights like a water pump of spirit until I became a true human one again. I am still learning.   I no longer feel a stranger in this world. My soul is accountable, tracking every budding branch, accountable to trace the sweet and beautiful lines impressioned onto each face. I can see through the tired dictates of how different we are and instead turn in the direction of my heart, which turns in the direction of every-thing.   Don’t let your gifts waste away under the corpses of how others are so much better than you. Don’t hold out for the ones who are your ‘tribe’. We are all The Tribe, if we care to look deeply enough. Care. Look deeply. Find yourself in the other.   Recover and reclaim the rhythms that your body still knows. My friend told me how attuned her chickens are to the seasons. The energy of life flows through them uninhibited. If this can happen for plucky chickens, why not us? What is it we think we are going to lose? Where are we resisting life? Where are we not applying the high and holy balm of love?   You belong to this world. Your arrival is no accident or error. Your medicine is needed to heal the heart of the Earth, the heart of the people, the heart that breathes in you. My Medicine Wheel Mentorship and Seven Journeys Soul Retrieval are Earth Medicine pathways of healing and activation. There is no need for any one of us to walk a walk of dispassion, diminishment, overwhelm and anxiety. The path of liberation lives in you and I serve to help it awaken. Aho.  

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