I am not from here.
I am born from the lungs of trees and wings and forgotten things.
I smell the ancient breath of Eden on the breeze. It smells like a woman, soft and earthy.
Not a woman molded by a starved society, but a true woman, a woman unsevered from the womb of Gaia.
In stillness and solitude, I can hear Eve’s cry.
A cry to be heard, to be known for who she is.
A cry to set the record straight.
Woman was not the downfall of humankind.
Nor was man.
The sin was not curiosity, nor the lust for the taste of wisdom.
The sin was faithlessness, turning away from presence, forgetting how to just be.
Nowadays we conquer.
We plummet through moments saturated with meaning, preoccupied by what comes next.
We step from this to that and that to this, forgetting to pause and taste the now, forgetting to look for kaleidoscopes in the sky, forgetting the gentle ecstasy of air touching skin.
And in our haste, we have become ravagers.
Our desires bulldoze through holy forests, our demands devour the soil that gives.
We fear desecration.
Now Mother Earth demands a sacrifice.
She exhales fire, the dead rise up in flame.
It feels like war.
But there are verdant meadows pushing through the cracks in the pavement, the birds are singing, and a new voice whispers,
“Dawn is coming.”
Heaven is already here.
In the kiss of the wind and the taste of morning dew.
In the exhale of the trees that dances between your ribcage.
In the arduous climb of the lowly worm from deep dark solitude into the joy of rain.
The waking, breathing, sleeping.
The ancient river, the heartbeat of time.
The eternal essence ever expanding.
Become nothing and everything.
Becoming one with it all.