Mother Earth: A Portrait

A Great Creator

While contemplating what qualities make Earth our mother, I am overwhelmed with gratitude and hope. I imagine that her touch is on all things at once in hopes for functional interconnectedness. A hostess with the mostest, she tends to the needs of many guests that come and go with the wind. All with the same breath, she cools the suffering and casts darkness where adjustments are needed. A master creator and loving teacher, she is our mother Earth.

Lovingly she provides for all living things by spinning happenstance into a welcoming foundation. Her fertile ground opens up and swallows possibility. She nurtures the lotus from swamp mud, fosters rebirth from fire, and guides waters through the aftermath of her quake. It is this creative spirit that makes her the mother of all living things residing on our spherical home. A being does not need to birth their replica to be considered a mother. Rather, the title may be assumed by those who give birth to an idea. Earth’s creations reflect our journey as well as contribute to the next phase of our existence. We learn from her and are inspired by her magnificent ways. Making magic out of circumstance, she teaches us that there is no end, there is only the next beginning.  

Teacher of All Living Things

The ultimate altruistic steward of experience, Mother Earth has made a home for our souls to play and grow. She does her best despite challenges and the selfishness of her children. She knows we are learning. She gives us space to choose and learn yet leads us gracefully to that which serves the big picture. When we do not listen she becomes more articulate, irate, lashing consequence and rendering us weak enough to clearly see our selfishness. Just as quickly as her scolding storm raged over us, a timely appearance of her warm embrace surrounds us with light and hope. We know she loves us, and we simply love her no matter how complicated the relationship may seem. We are aware that she is leading us through challenges that will help us become strong, grow, and prosper. Like self-centered adolescents, we know deep down we are callous in our disrespect. Still, her efforts to adapt the whole of experience to make up for our mistakes are tireless. She knows we will make mistakes; in fact, she anticipates them with an army of soldiers that consume our transgressions. She makes beauty where we littered our greediness and self-centered trash with disregard. It’s natural to wonder what Earth would be like without us. Would she be better off if we weren’t here? Perhaps we fulfill something purposeful in her we can’t fully comprehend.   

Compassionate Spirit

Somehow past, present, and future exist simultaneously in her system of rearing. Although her intervention is in reaction to her current children, she considers the longevity of all beings. The ultimate arbitrator, resolving the needs and desires of many with fair and balanced solutions. Her magic emulsifies, encouraging symbiotic relationships that make evident the connection between all living things. We stand in awe of the home she has made even though we know deep down we are sure to break the rules again.

Like an ethereal knowing, she anticipates destruction and conjures a new design. From her fertile soil she births a new direction. Intuitively her children follow. Those who resist may feel abandoned. Earth’s creative spirit crafts a situation special for the outliers, matching their resistance with tough love. The panoramic view of all living things allows her to manipulate a setting suiting everyone’s needs.

Her busy schedule still allows for moments of respite, teaching us to stop and smell the roses. She sings softly through the trees and plays a mesmerizing rhythm on the ocean’s waves. We rock and spin with her, learning the lilt of her grace. Her tears of joy and pain rain down on us, celebrating and commiserating with us. No matter what ensues during the day, her love will see us through the night as we rest.

Despite the love she extends to us, she knows our souls do not belong to her. She knows working toward the greater good for all her children means sacrifice. Taking care of herself first so to efficiently provide for her children is necessary. She weaves a fabric of compassion, an interconnected system of situations, that may or may not lead all to their personal advantage. Using her tools of elements, she balances all residents in hopes to carry the many. In her heart, she can see that the experience of the whole is simultaneous. No thing is sacred, yet truly it all is. She reminds us to augment each moment by continuously drawing our attention to the present: The bird’s song in the morning, the bright green appearance of life at the tips of the tree branches, and the hush of a snow-covered evening. Despite what we may view as good and bad, she realizes it is all a necessary part of our living story. It is the dance of life, and she is the music. She watches us repeatedly fall and get back up, knowing when to extend her grace and when to let us flail. No matter what we think of our failures and our disregard, she sees possibility. Her love for all things is steadfast. A mother’s love never dies.                 

Carolina Wren: Vocalist Extraordinaire

Author, Val Flamini

Conceived March 11, 2022

Posted September 16, 2022

I first noticed him the spring of 2020. The pandemic had quieted the streets and nature gracefully stepped to the foreground of my attention. Human friends retreated into their homes and backyard living creatures became my friends, family,.. daily collaborators. At first, it was his song that lifted my eyes and my attention to the trees. The trills and melismatic phrases were enchanting, irresistible. Have I ever heard such beautiful bird songs? I frequently stopped working to listen and allow my heart to feel lifted by his embellished calls. With unapologetic confidence, his voice soared over all other sounds in my small patch of woodlands. He swiftly leapt from tree to tree, tree to bush, and back again as if testing the acoustics of my yard.  I took comfort in his presence, thinking: If he can still exuberantly share his artistic expression, there is hope.

I struggled to get a glimpse of him. I didn’t even know what kind of bird to try and find. Then one morning when spring’s rapture was evidenced by tender greens on all trees and bushes, I heard the song within inches of where I stood. I froze with the bird water tray still in my hands, water dripping off the sides and down my arms. I slowly turned my head to the left and gazed up a tall Oak. There he was, backlit by the morning sun in such a way that I could see his throat pulsating while he lifted his beak high and sang. An oddly curved bill gracefully filtered the song emanating from deep in his chest. I could only see an outline of the bird bouncing here and there, choreographed with quick tail flips. He would not allow me to get a good look at him. Previously I been concerned his bold singing would attract the new tenant, a hawk. However, when I watched him play hide and seek throughout the bushes, it was clear he had no fear of being caught. He was singing his boisterous song without concern; completely undeterred by circumstance or fear of being heard. He sang with his entire being! I longed to sing like him. Who is this tiny protagonist that happened to bless me at this time in my life?

Determined this little guy has the most beautiful repertoire of all the birds, I became obsessed with this creature. I searched for birds “round and puffy,” “melismatic singing,” “curved beak” until I saw an image of my tiny cinnamon colored friend: the Carolina Wren. I was finally able to take in all his features at once from the image: his round shape, the puffy buff colored breast, the gracefully shaped bill, a tail as straight and agile as a conductor's baton, and a white brow leading to strings of lacey dots along his feathers. I dug deeper and I read articles to learn more. This is when it became clear I was hearing the male wren. The female makes subtle sounds, more like percussive chirps. She is smaller and tends to “lay low” while the male scouts a nesting site. It became part of my day to note the couples habits and communication. I observed and researched with a determination difficult to explain. I wanted to know everything I could about my new friend! I listened to all podcasts about the bird and its ancestors. Apparently, the wren has had quite a journey since originating from Asian ancestors. The wren has appeared in both eastern and western folklore as a cunning, mischievous character. Wrens have been hunted, accused of shape shifting, feared, murdered out of ritual and superstition all around the globe. Some hunting practices continue today.

He is here again! The third spring in a row. He perches nearby, keeping watch while the female swoops in and out of a hanging bag of newspapers. She laces a tunnel-like nest inside with her final touches. The Carolina Wren often mate for life. The male and female sing together a textured duet: the female on the cog rattle and male using his melodious pipes. However, I noticed the couple is distinctly more quiet when their eggs have hatched. I've watched them tirelessly tend to their home and babies, but I have never seen the chicks. Occasionally I hear singing that sounds like a work in progress. I imagine a young wren practicing songs just outside my basement studio where I teach voice. Do they notice our singing too? Is that why they come back year to year? Perhaps, I am just noticing what has been here all along. Maybe this has been their spring residence for years and I am the one providing wonderment and a new perspective for HIM.