" this is rock medicine, the talking tree, the singing water " The light of the sun tells me that I'm small. The greenness of the earth tells me that I'm her steward. The influence of the spirit informs me that there’s little time left to correct my grave mistakes. Listen to my soul, put ear to it and remember that my kind isn’t exceptional to life, life is exceptional to my kind. Listen to my heart, paint Love’s green reflection upon its bright pulse and recognize my true nature, a part of the grand procession that is evolving toward Love, toward the full worship of creation. Kindly take her hand and she will lead me to the love of all. Smile upon her gifts, laugh upon her ground, but first weep of the abuse I’ve poured into her waters, loosed within her air, ignited upon her soil and grafted in her children’s minds. Weep! Rain my tears down upon the grass that she might know my sorrow! Wail! Spill my grief upon the sacred ground that she might kn...
(The Weaver's Song)