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environmental essence: water dripping on stone and moss

environmental essence: water dripping on stone and moss

This particular time in between moons and eclipses has unearthed a ripple of sad truths; revealed with currents and tides that carry a force that at times feels too heavy a burden to hold. And all the while, as I look out into the world, I am seeing many months of drought being washed away by days of relentless rain. The rivers, creeks, and streams move with wild force, eroding away earth, uprooting trees, spilling out and revealing all of the invisible cracks, crevices, and spaces.

While out in the woods, allowing myself space to feel thru intense days, I came upon a large rock covered in verdant moss; moss that was humming with life and electricity from deep rains. As I spoke the words “crone stone” I crept closer to the mossy stone, exploring the hidden pockets, and delicate softness when I came upon a place where a small waterfall of water fell delicately down a lush patch of moss. The sound and sight of this brought me closer as I called my friend to come over to see. We crouched under the droplets, and filled our hands with the delicate beads, washing the essence over our faces, hearts, and hands, releasing worry and grief with each caress.

When I got home, I couldn’t stop thinking about that space, that hidden moss waterfall waiting for me to find in the woods. Moss are flowerless plants, that do not produce seeds, have no roots, yet are some of the first plants to evolve from the ancestral green algae, thriving for over 400 million years. Moss, being a non-vascular plant, needs water in order to survive, yet can go dormant and live for many years without it. Moss, a wise elder, who watched mother be born again and again in flower, in animal, in human. Moss, the keeper of the stories of time. Moss, in which patience was seeded, in which resilience was founded. Moss, ancient and earthly, tenderly showing us our place in the web of life.

And so, I went back to this place that called me, and filled a container of their droplets, capturing the stone, moss, water, and everything suspended in between, to cradle me when i can’t hold myself, to hum to me the song of mother being born, to string together the stories we carry in our bones.

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