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A Return to Mother Earth

Updated: Aug 17, 2020

Sand, sea, and sky, lying grounded, bare skin on the soft, warm sand. The symphony of wind and waves lulling your thoughts to slow, your body to release, your heart to overflow. Our return to nature heals the wounds of the ego-driven fabricated necessity of life in modern society. And we forget her, our Mama Nature. We think the ironed shirts, the vacuumed floors, the washed dishes are more important to our survival, to our happiness. Yet, we know, from deep within our hearts, that this is not true, this is never true. The happiness we seek resides in our hearts, and Mama Nature is our portal there. Finding stillness in nature creates an opening into the other existence. The existence that is true, the existence of creation. The timeless presence that always was and always will be, as it is, perfect in this moment. Yet, we are drawn away from her, from presence, from breath, from space by all the tasking of modern life. We choose our discontent, our ailments, our misery by disconnecting from our hearts, by distancing ourselves from nature, by ignoring the one who supports us all—Mama Earth.

Becoming a mother myself, I have become a self-made prisoner to tasks, as if they could ever be more important than the presence with my heart, as my heart, in my heart. How did I become this way? I often wonder why I can’t seem to just decide to find my way back to my heart and then viola, I am there. Why do the dishes still matter so much? Why am I so concerned with toys being put away and bathrooms being cleaned? All this time I spend preparing for life, and all the while I am not living it. Or rather I am living it, but my life is not the one I dream of, but one full of tasks and cleaning and errands.

How can I learn to put down the sponge and roll in the grass? When will I understand that jumping in mud and squishing around is absolute bliss? How can I comprehend that life is changing, tasks are never finished, there is always more laundry and more mess? But, I argue with myself, if I don’t clean it up, who will? And if it doesn’t get cleaned up then we will have a dirty, awful house. If I’ve learned anything from my practice of yoga, it is that the thing I am resisting most, or that I see as the greatest obstacle, which, in this instance, seems to be mess, is the very thing I need to embrace, to lean into, to soften through and discover what it is like on the other side. Is it so bad? Was it worth all the tasking and trouble and avoidance and pain? When I lean in, perhaps I shall find that the other side of mess is pure bliss.

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