While the world is busy spinning all to dust I sit still and quiet at home. Shifting consciousness - mine and the planet's. Me to you. You to me. We to tree.
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| our local Canlaon Wonder Tree - a 1,328 year old balete or banyan |
Buried and borrowing deep roots into the rich dark soil of the land - into the core of Mother Earth. Growing and spreading eager fresh tendrils and branches into the Ether.
Here I am. Be I Am. You I am.
Last night's women's circle was all about cradling our bruised and wounded hearts in the warm welcoming fold of our collective care.
Defeated. Devastated. Depleted.
Floundering in our mutual crises of faith. Where we were bobbing around as individual corks, we found solace in our codependent platform. Building a survival raft to sustain and support us.
When I stepped out of the hermitage and cut all ties with my guru I sustained a similar bereft-ness. That was only fifteen years invested. The Philippines is my lifelong homeland. The land of my birth. The place where I was raised. The country where I lived for fifty years.
It remains in my blood and bones. It resides in a special place in my heart. I am forever soul indebted to it. Invested and bound by bonds that bind me. In bondage to its history and potential.
Tragic. Tortured. Traumatic. Travails.
I am hallowed out by the out pouring of a love never nurtured or nourished, replenished or returned. Pinas kong mahal - you demand too much and are utterly unlovable once again. Doomed for all time.
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