We cannot heal the wounded Earth until we address our spiritual wound of disconnection from the Divine Feminine, the Holy Earth.
I’m not writing this like I know everything, I’m writing this because I had a vision of this owl, this bloodroot. I felt, from the moment this image entered my imagination, that there was something there. A message, of the electric sort. And I did not understand it.
And then, one day, absorbed in the details of those red, red roots, reaching deep into the Earth, it bloomed in my thoughts.
There is the wound, pressed upon our psyches. It can be very hard to see because it’s like the sea we swim in. We want to intellectualize it. Understand it, without feeling it. To live in the human world is to wound the Earth and thus wound ourselves.
And on the other side of this wound, there is the dark Otherworld of the Earth, and it is within Her Realm that everything we need arises. The Otherworld is maybe what Jung called the collective unconscious, or what is known as the Anima Mundi, the Soul of the World, or maybe it’s the Celtic Otherworld.
I’ve read all manner of descriptions and definitions and have decided that while it’s nice to read about what great thinkers have written, once again, words fail.
It’s an intellectualization of something utterly mysterious, intimate, and alive.
In all of my experiences that touch this mystery, and in the vast library of mystical accounts across the world, the underlying thread is an overwhelming experience of love. That is, again and again, what the trees and the boulders and the rivers and the stars have to say, in their own immediate languages.
Love, and awe. There is the threshold to the Otherworld, the World Soul, the livingness of the Holy Earth, that realm where our wounded spirits are tended to, so gently, so softly. Love and Awe.
