The land still listens, though we do not answer.
We have learned to speak to the wrong gods—
technology, televised evangelists, telecommunication—
forgetting the source to which we owe our lives.

Our flesh remembers dolphin and tree,
remembers the cliffs that yawn above the desert
and the salt expanse of ocean light.
We are of the Earth, and of the stars as well,
though most have forgotten those origins,
forging our brief tenure as if alone.

Dogs howl at night and we curse the noise,
not thinking to step into the cold
to see what the moon is saying.
Trees wail in wind, struck to their core,
but we hear only branches clattering—
never the message in their grief.

We’ve tuned our nervous systems
to the static of twenty-first-century life.
The subtler signals are not lost—
only unheard.
And this conversation should go both ways,
as every true conversation does.

Mother Earth still waits, an ample goddess
with room on her lap for all of us.
If we sit in wonder and listen,
her breath will steady ours again.

Clara in meditation ~ bj 2024