bracken and meen

inlet1

Here by the sand and the silt.. by the coastal lands and the muds rest the humps, callousing the grasses sharp and the heron bristle rush. It was here under the tea trees that I saw him, Drummondii standing tall above me in his warrior stance.
And as I saw him I heard her say “the serenity of the surroundings have the capacity to amplify ones ability to reconnect and heal.” Words of my very own but… I did not believe her, not her voice nor her tone one bit. Not, at least, until I could expose myself (soul, body and all) to the land spirits en mass. To the great all-knowing ancestors that rest there in the stones that freckle the banks of a body creation. Because here, right now, I am a stranger and I dare not unsettle the sands, nor the waters, nor the air… though by virtue of the fact that I am here, I have been called. I feel it in my bones as they reverberate dancing with the waves within the stones… and it is there that I can feel whole… sit solemn in the circle and behold the untold unfolding in the cavern of my soul.

And we all just keep roaming through these sacred sites, where a mother does gift us with her tranquility and she; the serpent eternal, does gently brush her satin skin atop our heads as she glides over our minute heaving forms. Up and over and down through the lands, carving out grooves for valleys and rivers aplenty. For us to dwell and live and kill and die and continue life.

Bracken and meen