My footsteps crushed on the gravel as I wandered over to a damp bench and sighed in relief as I sat down. It had been loud inside. I looked up at lady moon, and embraced the stillness, the solitude, embraced all of our living and dying and everything in between.

The following words then came to me as a flurry of exploding thoughts that I felt to be as true as anything I had ever known:

We need to spend more time dancing outside, under the ether, dancing in surrendering to the canvas of where we belong. We should be dancing with the trees, dancing with the streams, dancing with leaves fluttering in our hearts like love poems for the stars. We should build fires, so that they too can dance with us, so that we can remember how to read their red licking flames like the imprint of our own souls. We were not born to live isolated and enclosed. Our souls long for the wild earth. They call to us deeply, yet we have buried those cries, mistaking their loving whispers for fear. We should remember our primordial instincts, nurture them and then pour them over the planet, healing her wounds, which are our wounds, drinking her tears, which are our tears, floating in her womb, which was the womb which mothered us all. She calls to us in a thousand voices, she calls us to come home.

Without this we are nothing, and being nothing, nothing is done and nothing will be. We are perhaps the most fragile of all species and yet do not recognise the beauty in our own softness, the gentle vulnerability of a mother’s breast, of a child’s velvety first breath, of tender fingers which pluck at the heartstrings of existence.

We are not invincible – nor should we ever strive to be. We will turn to dust, and should embrace the time when we are called back into the womb from whence we once came, to be drunk by the Earth and sent back into the million stars. If this is not beauty, I do not know what is.

We shall once again dance, dance, dance, under the stars.