I Am From

I am from rugged highlands, old stones and boreal forests, from Sunlight soap, piano keys, cellos and beeswax candles, from quiet leafy hollows and clear water flowing down the hillside.

I am from the lost villages sleeping under the river, from currants and blackberries, from railway trains rumbling in the night and flocks of wild geese silhouetted against the moon.

I am from cedar rail fences, meadowsweet, maple leaves and acorns, from columbines and wild orchids blooming green and gold in hidden places.

I am from gypsies, farmers and warriors, from poets and gardeners, from gatherers of wild rice, wanderers in the wild wood and dancers under the moon, from wandering lineages who heard the music of what happens and set out on adventures great and small, travelling by the stars.

I am from obdurate self-sufficiency, frugality, patience, forbearance and laughter.

From the belief that the world is full of stories and one should listen for their hidden music, that one should do unto others as she would have done them do unto her, that one should practice random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty, that one gets out of life what she puts into it and more, that starting one's day mindfully and with thanks is the best way to begin.

I am from mass goers, monastics and solitary seekers, from practitioners of the great silence, meditators, worshippers in groves, chanters of mantras and ritual makers.

I'm from numberless generations of wise women of many ancestries who stand behind me now and walk beside me singing as I go along this trail. I am from fiddleheads, honey and wild mushrooms, from apples, fresh garden tomatoes, cilantro, chipotle peppers and rice.

From sunlight, drifting clouds and twilight, from timber wolves, wide vistas of snow and the Aurora Borealis, from the Old Wild Mother and her endlessly evolving seasons: spring, summer, autumn and the long northern winters.

I am from books, libraries and reading glasses, from art, canvas, paintbrushes and photography, from blank journals and handmade paper, from old oak furniture, earthenware and my grandmother's silver, from birdsong, windbells and mourning doves cooing on the rooftop at dawn. I am from magic, contentment, stillness and listening.

Kudos, thank yous (and wild orchids) to Endment who posted so beautifully about this yesterday and got me thinking about doing something similar (but not as thoughtful and eloquent of course).