6.5.16 Grounding Red Earth Wavespell

Orca on her side on deck. Her eyes are closed, her left side up, her belly exposed. Creamy guts coiled out. What’s this about? Ambergis? Smuggling? There are two men taking from her. Taking what’s not being given. Red head with big whiskered mustachios, sideburns, tropical shirt, sipping papaya and mango nectar, smoking a cigar, shrugs. The pay’s so high he’s past caring about what he does, all he sees is what he’s got, waves his hand to show pineapple’s adorning a table on board a ship, a ship in the middle of the ocean. My eyes don’t see what he sees, doesn’t look like much to me; there’s Orca laying on her right, brought on board by men’s might to turn her into money. That’s not funny. Tropical poison, nothing honey sweet about it.

Sit with Orca. Eyes shut. Skin dry and wrinkled. Crinkled. I have a pouch with Citrine, Smokey Quartz, and Clear Quartz. Needle and thread. Stitch and sew in ways men don’t know. Lifeline. Pipeline. Poison be gone. This is not where you belong. This place holds Mountain Song, lush and vibrant, verdant green, pipeline you will not be seen in these woods. The people have spoken what they would. Away, away, sink and go, we’ll put our heads together and think of beauty to come and flow through these woods and waters, where our sons and daughters play, fresh and plump and glowing. There’s a song that chirrups and twitters of healing flowers to be here growing. Needle and thread, stitch and mend, make amends, repair lifelines, pipelines carrying blood and air through earth and flesh, stones and hair all merge and mesh. Stitch and sew, nectar show crystallized in Citrine, held, be held Dear Orca, you’ve spilled your gut, now it’s sealed shut, the cord has dried and come away, healing is done under sun this day.

No shame, no blame, this Orca is not tame.

Image found on Pinterest


Orca opens her eyes. She beckons me to climb on her back. She picks up the come away coiled strands and carries them, a rope, in her mouth, nudges me to hold the end with all my might, then she jumps overboard in broad daylight!

Splash! I’m in waters deep, so deep, I hold my breath until I feel dizzy while we’re diving. Eyes open, it’s bubbly and blue all around. Water rushing past so fast there’s roaring in my ears where I’m holding the rope with arms wrapped around her fin pushing through, pushing hard with mighty force. She turns and we’re headed up. Just when I let go of breath, we pop above the deep. To my surprise I have no bruising from the leap. And then Orca, she flies! Skimming waves and water, lifting higher and higher, into skies and space and stars above! Orca you are a fishy dove! We soar, the wind roars; thunder rumbles, lightening flashes, and we’re above it all. I hold tight to her shiny black skin, it glistens, lit from inside out; we are stars among stars all about twinkling. She weaves and dives and zigzags, spiraling between planets in motion, I shift my body when she shifts, lift my butt when she lifts and we dance together in the vastness of everything that Is. Exhilarating.

Descent. I am made of light. Weightless. Under Orca’s skin. We plunge into the deep once more, I feel water rushing past, wetting my skin, soaking it in. Eyes open. Orca eyes. Mouth opens. We eat. Fish. Tongue wrapped around what’s caught in the opening. Bitten. Chewed. Gulped. Swallowed. Content. Crooning. There’s echoing all around. A soft song being sung. Vibrating. Calling the herd. Bouncing around underwater. We glide through slowly digesting. Sleek. Strong. Singing as we make our way along the currents. Musical rhythms, we flip and roll, swirl and stretch out, joy full. I am full. We hear the answering call respond. It’s time to go back through waves. Gliding. Sliding. Climbing. Fluid. Wet. Shining. Polished. Obsidian.

Image found on Pinterest

Orca smiles at the winged ones flying around us. This. Magnificence. Is. Available. To. All. Outside. Boxes. She feels sad. Boxes. Constructs. Humankind has boxed themselves in. Away from Magnificence. The Box of their making is all they Know. All they have made themselves available to. All that is available to them. Their pipeline. Do you understand? She asks me then she sings me a song. Gifts it to me to carry along, for my my basket until I do. She smiles and croons adieu. And I’m out from under her skin. Bobbing under papaya pink skies, with mango streaks and creamy coconut cruising, blowing kisses to Orca where, with a twist of her tail, she’s spun and long gone leaving me swimming in the bouncing water. I listen with Orca hearing, and there it is: the round bouncy sound of her herd greeting her; welcome home.

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