One breath follows another. You’re doing it right. Keep going!
The air kisses you as soon as you step outdoors. No judgment!
Sun, stars, clouds, moon, rain, snow — they each greet you in their seasons. They’re with you, doing what they are, just like you do.
Fur companions in your life, their moist noses and soft, warm coats, a blessing. What I do is me*, they remind us. You do you. No one else can.
Trees do it every day, breathing out what we breathe in, breathing in what we breathe out. It’s a prayer-song — you may have already heard versions of it. If not, make one up right now. You can hum it to yourself around the trees, setting a tune, letting them know you know, telling them they’re doing it right. They know, but it’s good when we do, too, and we say so.
“No one knows what will rise, when the pond is working” — Linda Allardt
Solstice, greatest of all the Feasts of Fire, beloved of the Faerie Folk …
I don’t know about you, but I hear that and I’m there. It’s a line from OBOD ritual, and we’ll be saying it this weekend at our Alban Hefin/solstice celebration.
I whisper it now to myself, this word-charm, along with that earlier line about breathing, and I listen to the rhythm, the music, as I speak the syllables:
Greatest of all the Feasts of Fire, beloved of the Faerie Folk …
We breathe in what you breathe out, we breathe out what you breathe in …
And I imagine singing this as a round at our ritual.
The exchange between realms sustains both.
/|\ /|\ /|\
*See my recent post, with Hopkins’ poem.
A Druid Way 