Barefoot Walking on Mother Earth

Tom, the Brownie, tells me he stands over eight inches tall barefoot.

“It is true,” says Tom. “I am tall for a Brownie fella. I also love to walk upon Mother Earth with my bare feet. So does Deidre!” says Tom, gesturing towards his wife, who is standing next to him. Deidre smiles and nods, as does her friend, Greta, who is standing next to her.

“It is healing to walk upon our Mother Earth barefooted,” Tom claims. “Also,” he continues, “only by walking barefoot upon her can we truly sense what she is feeling. It is good to walk barefoot whether the day is sun-filled with a gentle breeze caressing the leaves on the trees, or a stormy day with banshee-shrieking winds crashing through the trees, breaking off their dead limbs and hurling them to the ground. It is good to experience all types of weather walking upon Mother Earth barefoot.”

Greta adds, “We are quite proud of you for walking barefoot all the way to your mailbox yesterday.”

“Thank you,” I reply, “but it was quite nerve-wracking trying to avoid all those sharp, pointed sticks and rocks lurking in the grass.”

“Sometimes it takes great courage to walk barefoot, and you were very brave,” Tom says with a big smile. Deidre and Greta blow me kisses, while Tom gives a cheery wave before disappearing.

Library Brownies

In our small town library live two brownies. Their names are Tabitha and Josh. They are very shy, so rarely, if ever, are they seen. They love books and love to care for them. I am told that most, if not all libraries and bookstores – especially used bookstores – have at least two faerie folk in residence. These are mostly brownies, but are sometimes brees, occasionally gnomes and, even more rarely, elves.

By way of thanks to the faerie folk, all they ask is that you respect the libraries and bookstores. Do not misfile or mistreat the books. Be kind to the library and bookstore staff. The faerie folk also ask that if you should ever see them in a library or bookstore, please do not make a big deal of it. Just a cheery wave or a quiet hello is all the faeries ask.

Befriending a Bree

Albert and Grace are Brees, a type of fair folk who stand about 4 to 6 inches in height. Albert has bright blue eyes with curly, light brown hair tucked beneath a green pointed hat, which is decorated with a wide blue hat band from which a yellow feather peaks out. He wears a bright yellow shirt and brown pants and has gone barefoot today in order to feel the moist, green grass beneath his feet.

Grace, Albert’s wife, has hazel eyes and long, shining blonde hair with a windswept look to it. Grace calls it her wild, back to nature look. She is wearing a long, green dress with yellow Celtic-looking intertwining vine-like trim on the neck of her dress and also on the sleeves and hem. Grace, like Albert, is barefoot today in order to feel the green earth beneath her feet.

Albert remarks, “There are some indoor faerie folk, but they are more shy.”

Grace adds, “Even the ones in your own house.”

Albert rubs his chin. “Outdoors, a faerie has more options about staying and meeting you or running away. The poor faerie may feel more confident speaking with you if they are not feeling trapped in a room. A first time ‘getting to know you’ type of introduction between a human and a faerie is always best held outdoors.”

Grace agrees, standing on her tippy toes and taking a couple of little dancing skips. “And it is good for the human to bring us a gift,” she adds with a beautiful smile.

“What type of gift?” I inquire.

“Whiskey,” Albert suggests in a firm voice, grinning broadly.

“No, you silly goose!” Grace declares, playfully slapping Albert’s arm.  “Bring us a bowl of cream or a piece of buttered bread or even a handful of birdseed. We do not need these things ourselves, but we do like to share them with our animal friends.  And be sure to tell us you have brought the gift in honor of us.” Graces pauses, tucking a lock of hair behind her pointed ear. “And be quiet and listen. We just may say thank you and start a conversation.”

“Or we may not say a single word to you the first time or even the second or third time,” Albert declares, before disappearing with a friendly wave goodbye.

“Oh, you,” Grace laughs at her husband’s antics. “Keep trying,” she adds. “And your persistence may begin a friendship with a faerie.” Grace blows me a kiss and, with a delicate curtsy, disappears.

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.