At the End, Only Earth and Sky

 

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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 Sacred 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 lay 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.

An older one, shared with earthweal's open link.