EARTH AND SKY

We are born in a whoosh of water,
gasp in our first breath, then we cry:
water, essential, from our very first day.

Through the medicine wheel, I journeyed,
dipped my toes in a magical sea,
soul thrumming with the song of the waves,
my sign, my element, my spirit's home:
Mother Ocean.

Above, the sky, the vast expanse,
curving over all -
the great blue bowl of ether.
Underfoot, the earth,
brown and humble and mothering.

I bow to you, Sky. I sing with you, Wind.
I dance in the rain, laughing,
the rush of raindrops on my face
cleansing my spirit,
washing all negative energy away.

When I am clean,
when the Great Bowl above grows dark,
I creep homeward, settle beside the fire,
remember the winking stars,
the wheeling seabirds,
the many rivers and beaches
I have loved,
all the beauty gracing
this span of time
that is still mine.

In memory,
my grandmother's long, white finger
points at the glass of water
on her bedside table
as she lies dying.
"The dying always ask for water,"
she had told me, and it is true.
Water: a single tear
rolling down her cheek
as we said goodbye.

To the earth, I bow
in gratitude, in homecoming.
It waits to receive me, in turn,
when that final moment comes,
when I will become one with
All That Is.

First, there is water.
At the end,
only earth and sky.


A poem from 2015,  for the open link at earthweal.