Holy Ground

March was a quiet month for me.

I had nothing to say and went deep inside for awhile.  It was as if I'd burrowed deeply into the ground to sleep and to dream. 

It was unusually cold and grey here, and felt more like winter than the coming of spring.  And I felt like there was so much upon which to reflect. 

Of course I was busy -- actually, when I was busy I was unusually busy.  And when things were quiet and at peace, it was as if the whole world had stopped.  As if the world around me, and the world within, were poised at the edge of something that wanted to be noticed.

I wish I knew what it was.

I've wracked my brain trying to figure it out.  And all I can come up with is an obscure reference in one of my journals --

My life is holy ground, and I am being asked to stop and notice.

Why is it that so often when we come upon one of those rare, profound insights that cause us to pause and really pay attention, we remember so little about how it came about -- where it came from, how we got there, the winding path through our thoughts and experience that brought us to such a place?

I am thinking this time it doesn't matter.

I am thinking this time it is simply important to stop and to notice.

I had a dream around the time I was thinking about all this.  A dream guide took me to a stone circle and there the wind began to blow.  Roots went down from my feet into the earth and grew into and wrapped themselves around the Earth's roots.  As the wind continued to blow, I noticed how dry I had become -- and my dryness began to blow away like sand.  Down to the bone. Carried off by the wind; even my bones turned to dust and were carried away on the winds. 



From where my essence was rooted, vines grew up and remade me.  I was a green and growing thing.  A force of nature came and danced around me and called on me to name all that I wanted to plant in my life at this time.

"You are the garden," he said.  And as he danced, he began to toss seeds into the air.  The winds caught them and they burrowed in and became buried among the vines that I had become.  He laughed uproariously as he watched me green, grow, and blossom.

Time to stop and notice.

You are the garden.

Spring has come and the winds are blowing.  The earth is receptive to the seeds we plant, and the tender, green shoots strengthen as we nourish and nurture them when they begin to push their way out of the cold, dark ground. 

What do you want to plant in your life at this time?