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Let it leap.

The potted lemon tree beside me has five luscious lemons ready for plucking. The tree also has many other branches in flower. Fruiting and flowering are not mutually exclusive. One way of thinking and being does not exclude the other. We are beings of light and imagination.

I’ve just finished listening to a reading of a piece based in the US desert, the bizarre seeming behaviour of people driving through the drought wrecked landscape with ‘the canyons cracking open like pods’ and the young drivers from the reservations with their car wipers on. The message I hear is that even in impossible situations we can send up signals to the gods, advising them of our situation and imploring their help like our use of prayer wheels.

I’m wondering why we are not seeing the same creativity here in the midst of this drought. Where are the rituals for bringing down the rain in the winter months? Are there no dances in the traditions of flamenco or sevillanas that echo the flowing movement of the skies and the clouds. Are there no songs to be sung of agua or lluvia to liquefy the heavens? Perhaps there were ancient words that were employed that ensured the annual blessing season of water, long forgotten by us in our mad dash to materialism.

Two days of gently falling rain in many months of dry hot skies have not touched the water levels in the reservoirs. On my weekly drive up into the mountains I see the level dropping each month and the color changing from vibrant aquamarine to sluggish grey. We beings of water too are drying out like the parched land, the rivers, the mountains and hills. I can see the unspoken concern on the fruit farmers’ faces as they spend more and more on expensive irrigation that cannot sustain the seasonal fruit and vegetable crops nor the flowering process.

In Arabic the word for water is moya– it flows slowly, life blessingly through the mouth and down the throat. It is in one word the essence of life and spoken lovingly in those places where each drop is acknowledged as a gift. You can hear the way it works in my own native language, uisce, with more force and rush as it sweeps over everywhere. Perhaps the people in those places with a seeming excess of water could work with slowing it down a little so that it can move elsewhere to places of lack.

Perhaps there is a great rainmaker in the sky leading the orchestration of the clouds. The notes and bars are not set in stone. There are many different pieces to play, some great symphonies, some lullabies, some rat a tat rap. We need to come up with a way to talk with the conductor and the players- the wind systems, the pressure systems, the upswelling of the waters from the seas and rivers and lakes- all the movements and sounds of nature so that we can compose new pieces together, so that we move towards co-creation with Gaia. We need to hear a new language and relationship within ourselves and our way of being in this world. We need a natureful language of seasonality, of flow, of balance, of listening carefully, of elements and unpredictability, of lessening control and allowing grace to flow.

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