Marya of the Wood: The Song Will Carry Us Home
I paused and welcomed the gentle wind as it rushed through the remnants of my garden. There is a longing within each hollow stalk, reminding me of the past season, promising abundance in dreams ahead. The few greens that persist, in between patches of snow, deserve recognition and admiration for lingering, for setting an example of endurance, offering a sign of hope.
A stream of sunlight spilled out from behind a thick pumpkin cloud, offering reassurance in a sea of sparkling raindrops, clinging to the sagging boughs of trees spread throughout the land.
It wasn’t long before the song of an unseen chickadee rose above a steady rhythm—droplets of melting ice. Yes, the Creator is present in the moment, alive in each piece of this intricate puzzle that fits together perfectly.
I strayed out to the pond, where what was a stream before had become a mighty river. Swirling and dark, it knows the way. There is no time to stop and ask for directions. Its song, previously faint, barely a whisper, was a rich, harmonious melody, sweeping through the trees before nestling in my memory. I would take it with me to my dreams, if only they allow it, uninterrupted and pure, earthly things. Time will tell. My thoughts returned to an unwintered time when the sun shone warm on my shoulders, and a shiver was from a passing spirit and not the icy gale. I waited patiently, honoring the wind—the sighs in between—as one living moment to the next. So much is unlike all that we have known. To trust is to accept unlearning. Knowing what we have always known does not go away unless the door to your heart is closed. Meanwhile, the Earth remains true to Herself, reminding us that we can abandon our sorrow, but only if we acknowledge it first before bidding farewell. If we remember to dwell in our now, today, we leave tomorrow unto itself. A wise elder told me so long ago to trust the process—a statement that grows and takes shape over time.
When the first sign of unflowering fell upon the fields, we do well in remembering to rest. Pay close attention; unblossoming and blossoming are the same, but only if we see the gift in each within its hour of need. To overlook any phase is to open the door to darkness. To solely consider winter’s spite leads to a hollow heart. So, rise above the cold and hunger; fill your empty cup with the promise of what you know is yours to pour forth in endless bounty. For it is you, and you alone, who can heal that which is troubled. Do not look out, instead go within. That is where the truth lies, where you can withstand the barren fields and snow-driven winds. And never forget to sing, sing, sing, and dance whenever possible. For the song will carry us home.
Lastly, remember who you are. Whether or not Mother and Father are present on the Earth plane, we are all someone’s child. Think of that if anger or disillusionment emerges. When a great divide becomes as vast as an ocean between us, decide that your anchor is a sail. If you’re unable to practice kindness and acceptance, continue adrift. If you have the strength and are of sound mind, offer support. How we navigate this journey will echo throughout time. Unlike what we expect, the storm will shed light on all that is broken. It is love that will save the day.