Awake in the Dream

 The ocean is on fire. Humans are still sleeping. This morning is cool and cloudy and it feels like a gift, one I receive so gratefully. My water offering in the garden, the one I put out in the scorched evening of the heatwave, has long since been tipped over. Every drop used for survival. "Offerings, offerings, what good are they if we cannot use them?" say the creatures of the Earth, say the spirits of soil and ether. And still I feed the sacred. Clumsily, like a bow legged toddler, my monkey mind still racing as my spirit guides me forward.  My father in law had a stroke and the same day my friend gave birth. He is ok. She is ok. Life goes on, and always ends. There was no dew on the grass as I lay down on it's morning blades, doing breathwork under the sky. I put gas in my car as the ocean burned. I felt sad, I felt grateful. I walked into the store without mask and smiled so big. There is still so much fear in the air. That is by design, I am certain of it. I still ...