La Llorona and the Dark Green Religion of Hope

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I recently returned to Maine after what can only be called a harrowing journey from the Southwest. Grateful to feel beloved earth under my feet, I walk along the pine strewn woodland paths to keep myself sane. My animals have been ill, my neighbor was hospitalized briefly, other neighbors deliberately destroyed my garden wall crushing a baby balsam, and used this property as their personal ski slope, the threat of the C/virus looms – there are no words to describe this kind of exhaustion. As a PTSD survivor all my senses are on permanent scream. The simplest task has become monumental. And I am only one of so many…

 

Each day I attempt to feel gratitude for what is good in my life.

 

Momentary peace is found in the Dark Green Religion of Hope that I experience walking under every balsam, lichen, wet leaf, deciduous tree, listening to chickadees, phoebes, juncos, and finches, meandering along the swollen brook – Just to see clear mountain waters rushing to the sea reminds me that Nature’s rhythms are my own, and that most of the time I am not breathing with her – unless I take these walks. Somewhere along the way over these last weeks I have lost access to my body (PTSD).

 

Two days ago we had a spring snow and someone took a picture of me coming up from the brook – I instantly recognized the figure – not as myself but as La Llarona, Weeping Woman.* In the southwest La LLarona haunts the rivers at night. What I didn’t expect was to find her here along the brook, weeping under the bowed evergreens, falling as wet spring snow.

 

All Nature is in mourning for what humans have done to harm the Earth, and now even privileged Americans are under threat.

 

Ll Llorona weeps for us all.

 

Postscript:

Elsewhere on this blog is the story of La Llorona if anyone is interested in the reading… Although I wrote the original article two years ago, ever since this pandemic became real to most, people have been reading this article in numbers that surprise me…

Root Healers

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Before the bears come

chickadees flock to my feeder,

I hear an unfamiliar

avian symphony at dawn –

bird songs a healing balm

for hearts that long…

After years of absence

the barred owl

hoots from forested

green, and gray decaying

trunks hide luscious larvae.

Gentle woodland gods,

Nature’s Root Healers –

Black Bears

will soon awaken.

We are held in

the arms of Nature

Waiting

Two geese fly over the house…

Balsam seedlings sprout from

the forest floor,

bare leaf patches

shrink seed covered snow.

Earth is singing underground.

The sound and sight

of a pristine mountain stream

rippling to the sea

throws me into heartfelt prayer.

I am Home,

my brother’s grave nearby.

It is almost (his) Earth Day…

I have not missed

the croaking wood frogs

or the chorus of peepers

just outside my door.

 

Under threat of Death***

the dark man drives,

his biting blue eyes

seduce the innocent.

I am afraid.

Irresponsibility,

Entitlement,

Obstruction,

Invisibility,

Power reigns.

 

Yet gratitude flows.

A thatched bird’s nest

perches on a ledge

sheltered by grey logs…

Tree buds swell

Hope, and the thought

of delicate wildflowers

birth potential joy.

A brimming toad pond

awaits green frogs.

Lily b sings a Love Song –

his benediction

for this turning.

May the

Root Healers Come…

 

 

*** this dark man has shown up in my dreams all my life as a blue eyed killer/rapist – but here this force seems even more sinister – “man” is an image of the collective killer – male and female – and the C/virus that we have brought upon ourselves in our arrogance and stupidity.

Postscript…

 

Black bears are known by Indigenous peoples as the most powerful root healers of the forest – for good reason – they know how to heal their own wounds – and where to find the herbs that heal… may they come…