Traditions are one of our foremost teachers. What’s come before us signifies what will happen with us and beyond our time put in. That which has germinated through generations holds the buds of our furtherance. We must not recoil over ancestral rituals. (Save examples such as the blood-curdling sublimation of individual lives.) Our burdens crop up from vaporizing the ceremonial observance of honorably natural law. Birthed unto Mother Earth, I feel that we’ve technically inherited all customs. It shouldn’t matter that I popped out in South Carolina, you near the river Ganga in Rishikesh, or him from one of the thousand-plus islands in Polynesia. We’re each bound to the same heartcore of one planet. Therein, we shall savor the simmering of karmically cultivating all heritage. Let the lineage of land and bodies bake prodigious gleaning insights to facilitate an affectionate future.
As she has planted, so does she harvest; such is the field of karma. ~Sri Guru Granth Sahib
Stripping her backbone tickled me just as the guise of being turned on ahead of fully noting it. There’s resplendence where patience meets the reveal. Resembling a bikini-clad decadence beneath a jumbo muumuu. Decorous deboning was merely one of many careful layers I was loving about laulau-land learning. Coached by a beautifully holistic local botanical medicine healer, one would fondle the large elongated ti leaf until reaching the correct stalk point of its spiny edge looming my attention. Either your teeth or a knife were the focal options for separating the barb from its open body. Later, twisting two-sets of these limbs round herself, as if a giant hug encasing the bundle bursting of native freshness. Then, double-knotting her arms to secure the newly birthed conceived treat. A copulation of vegetation gestating with carnal animal pieces to form a babe of delicacy expecting devouring.
I was born from wild blackberry brambles and homemade peach ice cream churned as my youthful beatnik batik sheath clung to my barely-contained restraint. Kiss the Ground is a sound of my heartbeat. For it’s the resounding emblem of our physically soilful soul. I ran for miles in bare feet to the tunes of Carly Simon or waves lapping against the shore. Honeysuckle on the vine is my perfume, deodorant, and aroma de amour. I’m still as sweet as every Southern cobbler dessert, or that first s’more melting in your mouth fireside on the mountain slope stop between ski lifts. I believe I have Indian soles, might truly fly with the highest birds one day, and connect equally with blades of grass or sailors (especially handsome seafarers who wrap eco-consciousness as skillfully as a bowline knot). Interweave immense dashes of my unwavering intimacy dating water and you’ve got a great idea of me.
A few subjects towing the party line is a nuisance. However, it’s when we’re trying to cope with the indignity of millions to billions who’re gambling a loss for the importance of diverse life that makes me wish to steam the stupidly from their minds. By my calculations, our absence of understanding began with the ‘human’ element of ‘humanitarian’. Ego keeps trumping the support network previously in place. If only we’d begun based on the foundation of a benefactory nervous system. We endure factories of degrees the entire length they’ll continue abiding. While a lot of the lectures ready to educate us are completely free. It’s silly to make certain things up when establishing eons have already informed and simply prompt we hearken their confidence. I beg you stoop to eavesdrop on the ease with which you’ll be given the liberty to extract succulent sapience that would revolutionize our homo sapienism.
People can think that nature isn’t speaking or even that it has nothing to say. Yet, I’d liken those statements to slighting that history exists at all. But, revert back to laulau a moment to ponder who of us could casually dismiss the emphasis of its origin story’s good luck. We need to nominate relevance. Looking at lessons littered amongst the memoirs of fair potato, verdant frond, and forkfuls of organs splayed throughout the Bible to personal biography tells us to elect wisdom. Worlds of wonder await your intelligent empathy. They want to work beside you. Divinity lays in your hands if you allow it. We’re responsible to fight for the responsibility of knowledge. Walk outdoors. Convene with that we call other ~ foliage to fellow (wo)man. Touch things… safely. Talk to them all. Listen to their tales, their rumors, their narrative testimony to what happened pending your arrival.
May your aim for choke onolicious karma reign supreme!