I've noticed a certain phenomenon arriving a few weeks before the Solstice, either winter or summer, when a magical quiet quintessence emerges at day's end, arriving on the breath of the wind. At these times, the breezes approach almost shyly, wooing the ground-dwelling beings with dances and sounds and sighs. During this liminal time, a gentle breeze "wisps" across my face, coming from no particular direction, nor following any particular aim.
This air or wind leaves a signature of a gentle pause. Something to lift my face to, something that asks me to listen. The air itself holds a pregnancy, a story almost spoken, a whisper. And in that pause and whisper, one can feel a key to the unknown, a gentle tug to follow. A half remembering of a dream. I stay very still during these moments, listening to the heartbeat of the atmosphere, watching the dance between earth and air, listening for the message. In this air, I feel how the magical gentleness rests and lingers with me.
The trees play a central role in this magical dance. They conjure the wind, they make visible what would otherwise be an invisible dimension, and they do so with devotion and presence. In their ability to stand tall, in presence to the mystery and sacredness of the earth, conjuring up the ineffable with the dance of their limbs, spanning between stillness and motion, they help me bridge this sacred time from one season to the next.
The trees, oh they do love this dance, these songs, this dance between ground and air. They love finding ways to move like the ocean on a sunny day, or as the rain on a misty day. They dance as they feel moved in their proud new dress of lime green leaves, proud in their role and of this orchestra.
In the pre-summer solstice moment, in which I now write, the trees have festooned themselves with an unfurling of magic. Moving together, the wind and trees dance, easily as long loved friends, enjoying each other's company both in silence and conversation. The trees add a susurration to the dance from the gentle oh-so-very-new leaves, adding soft gentle notes, and not giving away all of their mystery.
These leaves are still now, and within a moment they gently begin to sway to motion of the air that I do not feel on the ground. At times, I can hear a wind start deeper in the forest. I watch to see how it will move the trees, and listen to hear where it will land. Sometimes, it will travel all the way to me or the ground before me. Sometimes, the wind will encircle the garden before moving on. Sometimes, this wind, it never arrives here, as though it has news for parts elsewhere.
I do not know how you experience this pregnant moment in your own part of the world. I do not know how the mystery arrives to your feet.
I do wonder though.
Whether you are sea, on a mountain, in city or desert, North, South, East or West,
at sunset time, almost sunset time, but not quite, how does the air greet you?
How does the earth feel to you? If you listen, at that space in the moment between, can you feel the dancing air, and the gentle pause? I like to imagine you can, and that you will hear the whispers of the trees proudly practicing their song and dance. I like to imagine you can feel how the air in this liminal between time feels like a caresses on every cell, how it feels as a story not yet written is in the air for you.
How do you experience this pregnant moment, when the earth is dancing with air and sun?
may we learn to create sustainable relationships with the deeper dimensions,
seeing through the veils and into the deeper dimensions.
to see through the veils and see through the eyes of the heart,
we must come from the heart,
through the presence of Love.
Creating an environment of trust, safety and sacred space
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