Thursday, June 3, 2010
Come with me. We are heading for the Atlantic. It's dark, and quiet. All that can be heard is the waves splashing softly against the rocks, the muted song of a gentle wind passing thru the pine- grove yonder.
It is so very dark, so very quiet. Distant stars move thru the night sky. We walk slowly along the beach. This beach, like the Atlantic, is primitive ... clean, sparkling waters; empty shells of sea life; driftwood and seaweed is the natural, (the only) debris. All is pristine, and incredibly vital. The natural energies flow freely. All motion of water, air, and land flows in unbroken harmony... So deep and vibrant that we feel its ebb and flow in the depths of our being.
The wind increases suddenly. The dark sky grows black and anxious. In the distance the low rumble of thunder is heard ...followed by flashes of dim lightening. We turn and head for the shelter of a hollowed space in the cliffs. We wait to greet the approaching storm, to watch it toss the ocean waters high, to see the storms magnificent power displayed before us; knowing that we too are, (somehow),part of this wondrous event .There is great respect for it , but , no fear. We've been there, done that," Countless times before; yet, each time is ever new and surprising.
Below, the churning waters relentlessly pound the rocks . The lightening splits the black sky. The thunder shakes the earth with it's vibration. The wind wails as it passes by our shelter, only to return again, and again.
You nudge me, and point to the beach below. You whisper, “The storm dancers have come to celebrate with us." In the height of the storm, several ghost-like forms stand in a semi-circle. They move dream-like, tracing circles, straight and wavy lines, all the while chanting to the rhythm of their anklet bells . The music of the bells rises above the loud voice of wind and crashing waves. The sound is equal in it's magnificent power, only to the storm of which it speaks .The chanting is clearly praise and adoration for the One who provides the storm.
The invitation is clear; “Embrace the storm, and its magnificent power. Claim its power to heal, to renew, and revitalize Mother Earth. Bless the rains that come to cleanse her. Bless the mighty winds that brush away all that is no longer useful. Give thanks to Great Spirit for this most sacred gift.
After a time, the storm subsides, and passes. Again, stars shine. The waters move slowly. The wind is barely a whisper. We return to the beach; and where the Storm Dancers had been, we see fresh, deeply imprinted footsteps that form a design.