Do You Not See, Dear One? {poetry}
{source}
The earth, she speaks. She may not speak the language of industry and machine, but she speaks the language of bone, blood, and soul.
And if we listen, if we expose ourselves enough to gaze into her deep, unceasing eyes, we may feel her story — a story of astonishing life and burning loss — reflected in ours, and ours in hers.
We may come to see the likeness of enforced barriers and dams, imposed distortion and objectification, thievery and destruction. We may also come to see the likeness of incredible wisdom and intricacies, fortitude and courage, mysticism and enchantment, wildness, passion, and life-giving possibility.
So, what might we come to remember if we let ourselves see her? What might happen if we open ourselves to the wild vulnerability of feeling all her parts — all her children, all her woes? What might spring from feeling the unfathomable beauty of her life — sometimes harsh, sometimes sweet?
And, dear one, where might you be taken, how might you be shifted, what might become of you if you soften into those forgotten places, those places where she ends and you begin?
***
Do you not see,
dear one,
as you tread across
my rolling body
with your eyes
so deeply romanced
by those things,
so unnatural,
keeping you safe,
maintaining the fallacy
of our separateness?
Do you not dare to feel
the waving flow of my belly —
high to low,
low to high?
Do you not care to notice
the illumination
effortlessly expressed
on the surface of my skin —
graceful yellows, blushes and greens?
Are you too afraid to witness
the deep cracks I bare —
and the creatures of the dark
that live, dig and scour within?
Are you not willing to notice
or care for
the rustling, wild, untamed
pieces of me
that you’ve grown to believe
do not touch you?
Or that you are too
afraid to visit?
Do you not see the signs
you’ve battered into me
as a means to more easily
navigate your way
around me?
Do you not feel the structures
you’ve placed upon me
as a means to feel more
self-assured amongst
my wildness?
Do you not notice
the vast barriers
you’ve set around me
as a means to contain
my strength
and connection
to all things?
Do you not dare to embrace
the chirps and caws,
barks and howls,
screeches and woes
that come from
my dearest
and most celebrated parts?
Do you not bear witness
to the ones with wings,
the angels,
flying amongst and around me,
sharing with me their offerings,
as I share with them mine?
What, dear one,
are you afraid will happen
if you lift your eyes and meet me?
Might you,
perhaps, finally,
notice yourself
having been
tied to me all along?
Having always had
deep cracks with your own dark
and scouring creatures,
imposed structures and barriers,
unknown and rustling parts,
screeching caws and howls?
Brightness growing from
your own skin,
your own beautiful and unique song,
graceful strength?
A wild and untamable connection
to all things?
Do you not see,
dear one?
***
A woman of the earth, Natalie Marie Shapiro is a force of nature and spirit. She is co-guide of The Red Thread, a yearlong nature-based initiatory journey for women in leadership. As a guide and facilitator, she ushers women further onto the path of soul, holding the vision that as we come into a fuller and more healed relationship with ourselves, we step deeper into a restored and enriched relationship with the earth as a whole. For nearly a decade, Natalie has worked closely with women in immersive one-on-one and group settings, specializing in practices of embodiment, consciousness, Yoga and meditation, ritual, and the great return home to Self. The combinations of Natalie’s education, immersive work, and developmental experiences continue to feed and inspire her place in the world.
***
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