Sacred Lands, Sacred Hearts
Article ID: 15898
Age Group: Adult
Days Up: 1,564
Times Read: 4,237
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Author: Merideth Allyn
Posted: October 16th. 2015
Times Viewed: 4,237
It was autumn almost twenty years ago as I pulled through an open gate attached to a white fence. The drive was long and winding. Elder trees filled with royal, red-purple berries on one side and tall white birches, amongst a wood, stood sentry on the other. The golden atmosphere was as silent as a breath not taken…until I realized it was I who was not breathing. I couldn’t. For the scene unfolding was breath-taking. The sun was slowly slipping to another realm in brilliant shades of coral, kingly gold, and lilac-lavender-slate. It was a ‘tween time for the seasons as the day turned to its ‘tween time of twilight where secrets are whispered and wishes fulfilled. Night was coming on gently with the scent of wood smoke and pungent earth in the air, as the day drew the covers of nightfall over its once-bright light.
I was still in a state of slight denial that my husband, our son and I were to start a new thread in the tapestry of our lives. I certainly didn’t know that our threads entwined would be of such manifest import, as we would grow and live together among this beauty. I really could not fathom that Mother Earth was willing to share twelve acres of land with us that were richly imbued with the fall-painted trees and foliage of Tulip Poplar, Black Tupelo, Oak, Ash, Hawthorn, Cedar, Juniper, Sassafras…and that was all I could, with some educated guesses, identify. The brilliant jewel-tones of the leaves hit by the now-radiant sunset looked enchantingly Other Worldly. The star maple with bright yellow leaves, adjacent to the red maple, was spectacular. It all felt so hypnotically symbiotic.
I knew the land’s history. This land was lived upon and traversed by many a Native American. We would be sleeping this night between the Native American lands of earthquake made Reelfoot Lake in northwest Tennessee and Pinson Mounds in southwest Tennessee, where additional power would pour over us. Pinson Mounds was home to the largest Native American Middle Woodland Period Mound group in the United States where Native American hunter-gatherers first settled through 1 A.D.- 500 A.D. Our shared land held undeniable primal power. The land upon which I was parked held great and ancient cores of sacredness even without its history’s intrinsic power.
Compelled, I had to get out of the car. As soon as I did, I felt that I was gently turned a little to my left and pushed slightly forward by small, unseen hands to see another miracle of Deity’s nature. I saw, with heart stopped, a huge, eighty-five-to-ninety-five foot oak. It was so old that its gnarled roots demonstrated perfect knees for the faeries and elves to live within, hide and play. The huge tree, if listened to, could share many a story, many a memory, I felt certain, and I wanted to listen. I wanted to hear about what went before which would tell me what is happening now and what will happen in the future. I couldn’t help but smile as I saw lightning bursts from fireflies looking like little gnomes with hand-held tiny lanterns in the bowels of that big tree. My senses became even more sentient…goose bumps were roller coasting up and down my spine. I almost felt a little giddy as I faced the falling sun for a second time.
And, there it was. More magic. Framed by the illustrious sky was a horse barn of no small stature. I could almost hear the now-gone horses whinnying and stamping. The barn was sitting atop a steep slope where someone from before had planted ornamental soft-hued grasses. How could the Creator/Creatrix conceive of such artistry? Walking slowly toward the barn, totally in the now, I happened to glance to the right and saw our home for the first time. A home, I hoped, that would eventually hold with my eclectic tastes, all my treasured crystals, a breakfront with my hand-blown Bavarian green crystal glasses, my Tom Clark gnomes, my Royal Doulton character mugs, my countless bookshelves that, over the years, would be filled with hundreds-upon-hundreds of ancient, wondrous, and worldly tomes. Beside the Native American/Southwestern wall rug, there would hang paintings from the Sorbonne-studied artist I was friend to and a huge piece on another wall from yet another artist friend. From the east, as the sun would heighten dawn’s subtle colors, its prismatic rays would hit all those crystals sitting on every flat and altar-like surface and would wallpaper the walls and cathedral ceiling with rainbows. This was what The Great I Am, who birthed the Goddesses and the Gods, that first day, allowed me to see.
I passed the stone and wood-structured home no longer thinking of the comfortable hearth there would be for my husband to return from work to or the guests aplenty that would be welcomed there, but, again slowly and hypnotically, I walked toward the barn. The sky was still painted red but a deeper shade with the sun peering right above, and the sacred landscape was burnished like a deeply golden chalice. I knew, though, as night would soon fall, that I needed to “come-to” and “shake off” the hypnosis that had encompassed me. Then, near the barn, I saw something incredible and more majestic and mystical than anything I had hitherto seen. Just at dusk, I encountered a sight that I would wager no small amount of money most people have never seen. There were two powerful and alchemically symbolic beings melding night with day.
Facing one another, on the banks of our land’s pond, were the Red Tail Hawk and the Great Horned Owl. The Lady and the Lord of the Greene Wilde Wood were roaring to me now, “Here, dear one, if you have ever doubted life’s perfection in all of its magic and glory, no eyes ever will you have to see when it is wise to see nor ears to hear when hear you must. Everything I have created, said the Greatest Spirit, is here for you to receive with joy no matter the way you are destined to learn…with difficulty or with ease. I can teach you love, the love you have forgotten and therefore cannot embrace in yourself and, because you cannot embrace it in yourself, you cannot embrace love from others nor can you truly give it. The how-to is simple. The Great Teacher, Nature, has always been at your service. She will help you learn to grow your spiritual garden as well as gardens filled with herbs, wildflowers, fruits, and vegetables. Always there is abundance. Always there is the mentor. She will teach you that there is no death to be frightened of. Here and now is your utopia. This is your destiny and sacred it is.” Then, silence although I inherently knew then as I know now…that to learn I would have to become teachable. And with what I learned, I would have to become responsible to and for.
My hypnotic reverie was broken as I heard the Great Horned Owl lift her massive wings and slowly take to the mackerel skies. Simultaneously, the larger-than-life Red Tail Hawk spread its wide wings and beat them gracefully toward the large oak, the sound reverberating in the almost-dark skies. Further, to break me from this wonder-filled spell, a horn began bleating startling me, forcing me to awaken from the dreamlike existence I had been in for what seemed like hours. It was my husband, who had come home to my engine-still-roaring, empty, with door wide-open vehicle, with prior occupant, his wife, nowhere to be seen.
We were to spend our first night in sleeping bags in our cozy cottage-like home with a hearth fire blazing. We would sleep soundly. The wind would lightly slough through the trees. We could hear its mystery through the opened windows. Little did I know that the years would pass so quickly because of the sacred holiness and magic that permeate our home and land that we share with Mother Earth, Father Sky, Grandmother Moon, and Grandfather Sun, with the fauna and the flora, and with the animals, wild or tame. Sometimes It is just too big to internalize. Linear time passes quickly when immersed in sacredness.
For us, on these sacred lands with our human hearts, gratitude and humility are an essential daily practice. For to not have gratitude or humility, all the grace and beauty of these lands and magical atmosphere would be lost to us forever. That is the way of the world.
Copyright: All rights
Location: Jackson, Tennessee
Author's Profile: To learn more about Merideth Allyn - Click HERE
Bio: Merideth Allyn wrote in the print media for 35 years before becoming a freelance writer. Merideth has written for Modern Witch, Witches and Pagans, SageWoman, Circle Magazine and is currently a columnist for Crone: Women Coming of Age. Her work can be found in 15 anthologies for which she has won awards for her poetry and faery and folk tales. She lives in Jackson, Tennessee with her husband, Larry, who works for a media company.
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