LOVE letter to the EARTH!

A few weeks ago I took a course with the animas valley institute

One of the assignments they gave was to write a love letter to the earth.

So I did.

I wrote this sitting outside on a crystal clear blue sky day in the midst of the more than human world.

This is a stream of consciousness plumped up in the moment slice---

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​Dear Dear Awe-filled Mother Earth,

You are, You are the craggy snow-dropped mountains spilling into a blue blue cerulean sky, sea wisps of cotton candy clouds.

Your beauty astounds me.

Winter green against white bushels, Junipers dotting, Ponderosas at long attention. They breath out I breath in they breath out I breath in---The infinity loop we’ve forgotten.

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Thank you Mother.

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Moss in winter on desert-y dry parched land for much of the year. The verdant green against the damp brown earth surprised me.

Moss mycelium, your secret or your truth squashed, reviving herself.

Thank you for your mysteries.

I love your curves. Millions of them, all shapes and sizes.

I love and admire your adaptability and how parts of you receive water so gracefully and others gurgle and swell and sometimes repel.

I love your water. The River Deschutes to my left. It’s sounding, uttering, spilling voices.

I love the variety of beauty you are. The bright reds, purples, oranges, lemon yellows that becomes you, the softer tones that arise in Autumn and the now blanketing white of Winter.

I love your seasonality.

I love that you are in relationship with the Sun and the Moon and that there is, at least in this moment, some predictability to that.

I love that you turn, move constantly and I don’t feel that. Or do I?

I love that you have the sky and stars to befriend and that soil and water and animals are all interconnected with you.

I love that you can be very quiet and very loud. Very calm and very chaotic. And that you are speaking to us. I am listening.

I love that my relationship with you can grow and grow and blossom and that I can be different with you.

I love that you know mystery and magic so deeply and that you and the wind have a relationship. I am watching, feeling, sensing that cool wind, on my face, moving my hair, wiggling these golden grasses.

I love you for offering. For being.

I love you for the frogs otters fish sheep bees ants butterflies moths beetles cougars deer squirrel gorillas monkeys, all the animals.

For the ponderosas junipers maples alders aspen spruce oaks firs service berries, birch redwood apple cherry elm and all.

For the kale lettuce cilantro arugula potatoes tomatoes carrots squash escarole beans peas radicchio. You know on and on and on.

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​I love you for Robin Wall Kimmerer, Alexis Pauline Gumbs, Bayo Akomolafe, Sophie Strand, Ross Gay Adrienne Maree Brown, Bill Plotkin, David Abrams and all the other writers who honor you and inspire me.

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And for Phoebe and Jack and Sparks and Hosmer and Elk and Waldo and all the waterways my kin-gen-friends-ancestors-descendants have cellularly mixed with everything and how we are dependent and inter and intra and what that all means in a sense-full-nessing way.

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And thank you for loving me so I can learn to love you and dropping lessons that I sometimes catch.

Like “make room for coexistence so that others can encounter you” (from Hospicing Modernity).

I am learning.

And decenter myself.

I am learning.

I also want to say thank you for Joanna Macy who has taught so many humans to love you and to all the other Joanna’s (Vandana Shiva…humans, and more than) living on you, with you, in you.

May the light shine brighter.

May the dark be our teacher.

May the seeds of blessing, of reciprocity, of sacredness, of soulfulness, of reverence become our seeding.

Me, you, the cosmos.

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Love you to the moon and back,

​Carol ​

​P.S. I wonder what the world might become if we wrote love letters to the earth and sky and sun and moon and... regularly?

Check out the Unheard of Importance of Listening Course HERE​

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