Photo credit: Iryna Yeroshko
Dr. Smith gently guides me, “You are walking on a path in the woods…. Notice the sounds you hear, the smells, anything that you may find on or near the path …” I pace through the forest in my imagination, passing a good sized granite rock. I hear the shifting of leaves and see warm glowing shafts of light through the forest leaves. “Around the next bend in the path you see a clearing, a safe place, warmly lit by sunlight. You arrive there ….”
As I enter the clearing in the woods, I step into a very hot, dusty yard between two huts made of sticks. An aboriginal Australian woman in her 50s crouches in the reddish dirt. Continue reading
The Grandmother has taught me to smell, to watch, to deeply listen for healing around every curve in my path. I hear it in the bird calls pinging through the leafy canopy, and in the sub-aural voices of ancient trees. It comes as a word, or it may appear in dream fragments, or on a telephone pole or in a poem on Facebook. Healing may be the particular quality of light greenly gleaming through the leaves, or seeing my garden upside down in a drop of dew. It is the pleasure of the rooted ones, dancing when breezes shift their skirts and the birds tickle their branches. I seek that moment, like a moth seeking the light of the moon, that moment of Healing.