Yellow Pond Lily
November 28, 2011 § Leave a comment
“You are in a snug, dark place laying on your back. There is water all around you and it’s cool, refreshing, still. You can feel the earth beneath your back, a mother holding you in soft, embracing arms. Your body is one large root, your limbs are rootlets reaching out and down. Starting at your tailbone, your hips and back, your shoulder blades and the base of your skull, small rootlets sprout out and reach down into the soft mud. You can feel the mud and it’s your food and shelter. You can feel the earth supporting you and nurturing you as if you were lying in a cradle. All the tension leaves your muscles and travels down those rootlets to disperse in the soil, and, as if inhaling, nourishment returns, traveling up the rootlets and feeding your body with warmth and stability.
“All around you there is still water. It’s the perfect temperature. Looking up, you can see light playing off the gentle ripples on the surface of the water above. Every once in a while, something breaks the stillness of that surface, some leaf or twig or dust brought along with the breeze. As the surface is broken, the water welcome the foreign objects in. It clings to them, drawing them ever so slowly down to the bottom. As you watch them float downward, you have plenty of time to observe them, these new objects and experiences, and know that once they reach the bottom, the nurturing force of water and earth will combine, and they will gradually be decomposed, broken down, transformed, and they will join the rest of the muddy black soil that nourishes you. The water and earth protect you and provide for you.”