Miracle Orb

Never Owned, Only Shared

Hawk on the wing circling through vast blue skies headed for distant mountains.

Whale undulating through vast blue deeps marking passage through territories unknown to bipeds.

Consider the surface world. A world of atmosphere and air. A world of seas and hidden depths, whose vastness holds the majority of life on this world. Hidden. Unseen. Unreverenced by most.

An orb hurtling through space, through realms far beyond our meager understanding.

Why is there an atmosphere for birds to fly within? Why do the seas not drift off into space? What science discovers is miniscule compared to what IS.

Are the laws of physics real, or do we make them up, soothing stories to suit our infantile comprehension?

What we know of electromagnetics barely approaches the surface world of Gaia, and scratches her surface, not, though we mar it with our heedless taking. A world we arrogantly call our own. A world whose bounty we take for granted, and whose gifts we plunder.

What do Hawk and Whale hold in balance? What mysteries do we destroy with every motion of control?

I have watched the herds of the savannah wind the gears of the world. I have soared with the raptors, dived with the cetaceans, whose consciousness is intertwined with star and stone. The flower of life lives within each dance. Oneness permeates their all.

If the winged ones do not soar, the finned do not churn the seas, Gaia’s miracle orb of life-giving sustenance will not cease to be. She will have no option but to set herself free.

May the voice of our Mother be heard above the fray. May we remember our inter-connectivity, however tenuous it may be.

We assume so much. We know so little.

Blessed Be.