Eywa's Song

"The valley spirit never dies. Ever creative, she is veiled in mist, there and not there. Call her the Great Mother." - Laotzu

Enough of the mountain top,
enough of rapture and ascension.
No more higher states or steps to heaven,
No more gravity-defying Yoga postures,
risen Lords, Ascended Masters, OBE's:
The DOW that rises must fall.
The ever expanding GNP is unsustainable.
No more climbing the corporate ladder to beatitude.
Gazing at the sun will melt your eyes.
The Himalayan cave makes you so high
you forget how to breathe down here
where we mussel our pearls and hum
like beautiful uncoiling snails
at the bottom of the green water.
Now it is time to descend
through the mist into the valley
of effortless delight in our particulars,
a path of resting and return,
a sinking toward the mud-caked seed,
gracefully planting our whole confusion
in the belly of darkness.
Let us go down now and awaken
the juice in gnarly roots.
Then we will gush up again,
not into heaven, but Earth.

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