Are You There Goddess? It’s Me, Michelle

glacier_7 Dear Mother Earth,

A thin layer of snow covers your flesh. Under the snow your skin is hard, frozen. Father Water still runs in your crevices but he is slower now, colder, frozen in places, and hard like you. Grandfather Sun comes up each morning, a little stronger than the day before. He lingers about a minute longer each day but Air will often win out and keep your flesh hard, frozen. Grandmother Moon waxes and wanes, creating the waves and tides, telling women when to ovulate, menstruate, procreate, gestate, labor, and lactate. Yet now you are crone, hard and frozen.

I have made great changes in my life to feel your love again: I’ve sold my car and now walk everywhere to reduce my carbon footprint and to reduce my monthly expenses and to increase my health. I take short showers to reduce my water footprint. I carefully choose what I eat so not to harm you any further with unsustainable farm practices and large carbon footprints of foods brought from other parts of your body. I value you, Mother Earth, above all else. I value how you interact with Water, Air, Sun, and Moon and the magical changes which occur before my very eyes, under my feet, and in my soul.

Are you there Goddess? It’s me, Michelle. I ask for housing and food and clothing, all the things you have provided over the millennia. But now my needs are greater than ever before and I don’t know where else to turn. I need the loving embrace of mother love in this time of financial need. I feel so alone, Mother Earth. I feel so isolated. I feel so unwanted. I feel like a crone in a nursing home: forgotten, forsaken the way I imagine you must feel sometimes. I long for the promise of spring, of new life, a hint to abundance in summer, of the harvest in the autumn. I need a job, Mother Earth. Please.

In reverence,


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