A beautiful and nourishing reflection from
Francis Weller. Deep bow of gratitude.
And love. 💗 Molly
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| A bald eagle high atop a tree at sunset. Photo by Molly |
Dear friends,
Warm greetings to all of you. We hope this newsletter finds you well. Here, in Northern California, it has been another dry season, with virtually no rain since the beginning of the year. We are now in the driest period in over 1200 years. What little rain fell in the fall was enough, however, to coax the return of wildflowers and rich green hillsides. Nature is vigorous.
There is an old thought, running through many cultures, that the world is a living being. One name given to this sentient presence is Anima Mundi or the soul of the world. When we approach the world as alive, we come into a more intimate encounter with the folds of the earth. We feel the entanglement between our indwelling soul life and the wider expression of soul. Our long evolutionary journey shaped us to be exquisite receptor sites for the beauty and sorrows of the world. When we restore our relations with the Anima Mundi, our capacity to register the heartbeat of the earth increases. Through this enduring conversation, we enter a participatory consciousness where we register our ongoing relations with the shimmering earth.
This move may be helpful as war breaks out and other threads of the world unravel. Whenever we are anxious about the state of things, the soul of the world offers itself to us. Sometimes it arrives as an acorn lifted from the ground and held in the palm of our hand. We sense within it, the larger life that awaits. Sometimes we are awed by the flight of geese reminding us of our communal bonds with one another and at other times we feel its presence in the striking azure blue sky. Remembering our wider intimacy with the Anima Mundi grants us deep and abiding support during turbulent times. Wendell Berry's poem, "The Peace of Wild Things," is an eloquent reminder of where to turn for solace.
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
May we all find moments of rest and grace in the coming months, even when they are difficult to find. We are invited over and over again, back to our imaginations, to the Anima Mundi, to the peace of wild things.
Green blessings,
Francis Weller
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