The fires in northern New Mexico are close enough that I see the smoke plume bloom over the mountains almost daily. I wake up every day wondering if today is the day we’ll need to evacuate. So many have already lost everything, sleeping on cots in community centers, uncertain of futures now lost in smoke.
I lay my body down by the river and listen for her prayers. I don’t know what to pray for anymore, so this has been my practice: Make offerings. Feed the spirits. Ask for beauty to be made through me, in whatever imperfect ways possible.
She starts to speak. I turn to the rivers running through my body. I feel all the ways my body has been extracted and neglected. How travelers have come to this land, sipped the sweetest nectar of my soul, and been unwilling or unable to make their offerings. To give of their heart’s honey. To sweeten and reciprocate. To honor and bow at the sacred exchange that life asks of us.
I feel the holy liquids drain from my flesh, leaving me arid, lonely, empty, longing for life. In this state, wildfire is freedom. Burn me to dust so I may try again. This cycle is rich with heartbreak and horror. But this is the reality of life today.
I see it in myself. How I sleepily and heartily drink from the river without knowing how it drains the reservoirs. Without giving thanks for every life-giving drip. How we are all taught from so very young. To take and not give back. To be taken from, and never replenished. It’s not us versus them. We are all forgetful miracles. Fighting will not bring the rains.
The hollow chasm of my heart deepens with every disembodied exchange, alienated from the simple cycles of reciprocity. I let the grief take me deeper. True, deep tears cried freely have a way of leading us back to that great ocean of love. It is here we remember what we came here for.
I cry and cry. For my life. For yours. For the waters. The land. The wind. The fire. I cry for all the known reasons my heart is breaking, and all the unknown reasons. I cry for the past, present, future. I lay my tears down by the river as the only thing I have left to offer. The only real thing about me some days.
And every time, to my surprise the earth shines under my face. Saltwater tears sparkle under the sun, anointing what I love. My offering gratefully received. Honey sweetness on aching, cracked earth. I don’t know if it’s doing any good, but I feel something softened and open within. Willing to receive and be received with grace. Heart cracked and shining. A beacon for others who are remembering, too. So that we may draw each other near and recall the old, new ways of dancing on this earth. Holy exchanges of sweetness, sorrow, rage, and ecstasy.
And with each new union, I’d like to believe we weave each other back together. With each heart-full offering, laid at the riverbank of another’s thigh or hand or soul, we call the rains again. We calm the fires from raging. We love each other into restoration. When a heart is full, giving comes easy. Medicine flows. There is always enough.
I made this offering of clay at the river the other day. A snake woman I made months ago, whose arms and armor had begun to crumble, just like mine. She’s been holding vigil on my altar. I kissed her wounds. A prayer wailed through my teeth and bone. Grief and praise woven together. A great river flowing back to love that feels like home, freedom, and sweet medicine.
These are the maps for our journey into Wild Womb Summer Camp. Follow the chasm until it becomes the ocean and return to us with honey. Fill your chalice so you can be the medicine. For you. For your beloveds. For the aching world. If this isn’t what we’re here to do, then I don’t know what.
Early bird rates extended through May 29th. nicolenardone.com/wildwombsummercamp for details & registration.
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