Perhaps we have forgotten our weaving, lost ties in the fraying of connection, but our undoing could spark our revolution. It could bring us home. Home that is known in fullness, a completeness that saturates us to the marrow of our bones. 

If every step is a return, a giving back of what has been lent in the ephemeral passing of our time here, how would we grace the land? Would we make every step a prayer, a grateful dance across the surface, attentive in the manner that we lay each one down?

If we felt how much she needed us to return, how she longs to feel the kneading of our heels, to be awakened by the heartbeat knocking in the soles of our feet, would we turn the journey into an offering?

If we remember we are wild things constructed of matter and beautiful dreaming, built up into substance by the elemental wonderland we live in, then how would we see?

We would recognize ourselves in the moss that binds breath to the trees, in the spidering tunnels of roots, in the weeping way she is coming undone in the glaciers falling to the seas. We would ache to feel the fracture of how lost we became, how estranged from home.

Then, when the sheer brilliance reaches the tether lines to soul and grips at the corners of our vision it pulls perspective into focus and begins the braiding together of heartstrings, of all the lost and vagrant threads of self coming home to binding. We would remember our affinity with the earth, that this mother is our lineage. This is her offering in turn. Her patient waiting for us to remember and return, to receive us and love us back to life when we do.

We are of her, built and drawn up from her, inextricable from the source that weaves us together. The antiquated notion of ‘dominance over’ is overdue to be wrung out and replaced with ‘reverence for’. 

Press the backside of your heart to the ground and let your beating, thrumming, drumbeat sing a love song down. Feel it giving back the rhythm, in harmony, that the pulse of the earth taught it from the beginning. Feel the breath in synchronous tides. Suspend your illusions of separation in favour of feeling. Feel everything. Every subtle turn in a blade of grass, every roiling shift in the atmosphere above. Feel the impressions you are leaving in your wake and make an art of them, a loving embrace for the whole web of life to which you belong.

This is how we weave our way – a revolution of our sight, of our walking, a homecoming in our way of human beingness.