A song on repeat, the lyrics cycle. Over and over, the same phrase. “I’ll keep coming,” it sits with me. It feels reflective of the themes that have been showing up around me. Over and over. A repeated idea, this communing with the spirit of… the spirit of nature, of ancestors, of plants, of the land, of the earth. A theme that has been echoing loudly, recently, regarding my past, and weaving dreams of the future through my mind.
These words, “I’ll keep coming,” a reflection of the constant call to find ‘home.’ A constant call to connect to the soil. A constant call to return to the place my family once existed, amongst the hills of Appalachia. A place they tilled, working the land, cultivating a meager life for themselves, sharecropping to get by.
The way the trees have always provided peace for me in times of deep sorrow. The years spent exploring the brook at the end of the sledding hill at my paternal grandparents’ home of forty years- walking along the well-troughed path from unknown years of water movement, pebbles and sharp edges underfoot, mud squishing it’s way through the spaces between my toes, the earthy, dank smell of fresh mud and decaying plant matter, the wild growth and marsh plants along the ridge above, the silvery sheen of water on the leaves of the jewel weed plants, the sound of softly flowing water, of dappled sun through the trees.
Thinking back on a holiday discovery in my adult years, on a wall of school photos of the kids and grandkids. Amongst these, a single frame with an image of me, maybe age two, smelling the roses, a gentle hand lifting the bloom to my face. A small photo of my childhood Himalayan cat tucked into the hollow corner of the frame. A strangely out of place image amongst these formal portraits. As if my grandmother recognized this call present within my heart. As if this inner desire to connect to something deeper, something deeply rooted within me, deeply rooted in the soil, has always been present, has always been apparent. A thing I’m only recently, and slowly, being reminded of. The threads of this connection to nature, to the matriarchs who came before me.
Looking back and considering the curiosity that’s forever existed within me. A desire to know the plants around me, to recognize the wildlife. A desire to call them by name. The way this has never left me, still lifting a rose to my face to take in its smell at every opportunity offered.
Thinking of the dreams that have been blooming in my mind for the last two years that feel so far from fruition, but the emotion that comes forward when thinking of them. The deep connection to this thing that is so far from reality in this moment. The way it’s been spoken of in pieces through others’ reflection of my chart. Of my earthy, Demeter-like moon, and my watery, connection-loving venus. Of my most visible place in my chart being in a house of spirit, rather than a house of work. Of my constant absorption of information from the environment around me. My chart, a song I’m only beginning to see the notes of in my every day life. The beauty of its growing resonance. The living tune intertwining itself with my world.
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