Mother Earth 2017

Tom and his wife, Deirdre, a doll-sized brownie couple, stand beside the stream watching the other faerie folk play in its freezing waters. Shivering in the cold wind, I ask them, “Do you know what’s coming?”

Deirdre replies, “Do you ask this question because your new leaders do not believe in the suffering on Mother Earth?”  My frustration causes me to choke up.

“Worse weather,” responds Tom.  “More suffering for everyone.  Not just for humans, but for all of us.”  He pauses, “You know, we faerie folk pray for humanity to finally ‘get it’ – that you are not separate from Creation.  When will humans realize that you need Mother Earth as much as she needs you?  We are all connected to one another, and we need each other.  Even we faerie folk are connected to you humans and you to us.

“You must understand, every part of Creation is important from the smallest creature to the largest mountain.  It is all worth protecting, worth saving.  Everything put here on Mother Earth by the Mother – Father Creator has the right to exist.  Who is man to decide otherwise?

“You ask what is coming?  We believe Hope is coming.  We faerie folk believe, against all odds, that human hearts will suddenly wake up to Mother Earth’s suffering.  Then you will know we are all part of one another.  We are all brothers and sisters of Creation, basking in the love of God.”

Tom falls silent.  Then with a shrug, he adds, “I am a bit overheated.”  Gesturing to the freezing cold waters of the stream, he offers, “Want to go swimming with us?  We can all use a cooling off.”

I shake my head no and thank them for the talk.  Deirdre gives me a playful wave as I rush back to the warmth of my house, escaping the bite of the freezing wind.

Bird Wisdom

While we watched birds eating at the bird feeder, Malcolm, a small faerie man, told me, “We must learn to walk upon our Mother Earth in the stillness of our spirit.”

He paused, reflectively watching the birds.  “We must walk gently upon her as birds leaving their tracks in the snow.  The tracks are there for a brief time until they melt away, leaving no sign of their passage.  Learn to still your spirit so that even the birds trust to eat seed out of your hands.  Then you will walk gently upon Mother Earth, doing her no harm and living in peace with Creation all around you.  That is how our Mum and Da Creator meant for us to live.”

Then Malcolm became a bird and flew away.

All Souls’ Day

I watch a small group of spirits pass through our yard.  “They are on their way to visit their loved ones living nearby,” says Tom, a small Brownie man standing next to me.

I think upon the foster family who raised me – my mom, dad, brothers, aunts, uncles and both grandmas – all of them now living in the spirit lands.  Now and then I feel their loving presence near me.

Tom, reading my thoughts, gives my leg a few pats.  “Do not worry, lad.  Your family has not forgotten you.  Why here they are now!”  He vanishes as I hear my name called.

The Visit

A gentleman came to visit me while I was sitting beneath a tree.  I was in a meditative state listening to a hidden bird’s exquisite song and gazing down at the golden carpet of autumn leaves at my feet when I noticed a man standing next to me.  He was a slender man wearing a dark derby hat and his best Sunday frayed dark suit.  The man took off his derby and wiped sweat from his forehead with a white handkerchief.  Replacing his derby upon his head, he asked, “Excuse me, but do you know where I might find Wilma?”

Looking at the man, I surmised he was a spirit due both to his clothing and to the fact that he looked like an old black and white photograph on a beautiful, colorful autumn day.  “She’s not here right now,” I answered, “but you can come back on Halloween night.  Perhaps she will be here then.”

The gentleman again removed his derby and wiped the sweat from his brow with his white handkerchief, before stuffing it into his pants pocket.  He seemed confused at my suggestion.  “Thank you kindly,” he replied, before vanishing.

A gnome man whispered to me, “Poor man.  He still thinks it is summer.  That is when he died so many years ago.”

“Which is why he kept wiping the sweat off his brow,” a gnome woman added.

Patting my shoulder, the gnome man continued, “‘Tis the season, lad, when the veils between the living and the spirit world get awful thin.”

That being said, I almost expected Wilma to appear at any moment.

 

 

Autumn Light

Sloan, a red-haired Brownie man sitting on the deck railing, points out, “It is easier to see everything as enchanted under the Autumn light.  That is because the Autumn light pulls back the curtain on the mundane things of your world.  You then see everything for what it truly is . . . enchanted.  You see, we faerie folk know nothing in Creation is truly mundane.  That is an illusion suffered by humans.  It is as if you are all under a sleeping curse from which you need to be awakened.  So wake up, the lot of you!”

Clapping his hands, he vanishes into the fading Autumn light.

Anna’s Hope

“In the beginning, when Creation was young, humans, faeries, animals, trees and rocks, we all spoke the same language,” said the fair-haired faerie woman named Anna, her mist gray eyes gazing back into the past. “There were a lot less misunderstandings back then.”

She paused, gathering her thoughts. Looking directly at me, she continued, “It was when we drifted apart, when we became for the first time ‘us and them people,’ when we shattered from one folk into many different tribes – that is when the misunderstandings began. They were at first small misunderstandings, which suddenly grew into terrible wars. It has been the same ever since, except the wars have become more terrible, with more innocent lives lost than ever before.”

She paused, wiping tears from her eyes. “If only we could learn how to speak to one another again, perhaps to understand one another again. Then maybe we could become one people again – humans, faeries, animals, trees and stones. Then war would exist no more.”

She smiled, and with a wave, disappeared into the hedge.

A Faerie Good Morning

In the early morning, as the stars make their way to bed and the sun, yawning, begins his climb into the sky, morning greetings from the faerie folk cut through the dream cobwebs of my sleep.  I try to dig down deeper into sleep, attempting to capture some tattered fragment of a dream that might become a blanket to hide under to protect me from their incessant early morning cheerfulness.  But, like a determined cat, insisting that it is long past time to get out of bed, the faeries keep prodding me with their wide awake banter.

Unlike humans, faeries tend their flower and vegetable gardens beneath the early morning sky.  Wide awake, they are already enjoying their day before even the sun rises from his sleep.  I finally succumb to their expectations of the beginning birth of a beautiful morning and stumble from my bed to be reborn like the day.