When the land calls,

it may start as a faint whisper on the wind 

or a rumbling in your ancestral bones 

arousing a memory of our collective past

as earth-based people who have always known

ourselves through place.

If unanswered, the call may pick up. 

A grating throb in your chest;

an unplaceable grief for something lost;

an unspeakable yearning for something else;

an unshakeable commitment to something more.

The discrepancy between 

what is and what can be

is truly maddening:

the claustrophobia of staying 

too long in an outgrown skin;

the sorrow of silencing oneself 

when life is meant to be sung;

the strain of believing 

love must be earned

when it infuses everything.

Yet it is precisely this gap 

between what is and what can be 

that emboldens us to cross the sacred threshold:

to walk into the wilderness alone,

to make our amends,

to return to the soil,

to utter our truest vows,

to pray for vision.

Remember this:

Even on the longest night 

alone on the mountain,

you are never alone.

For the earth welcomes you

as a child of creation 

returning home.

And through the sincerity of your longing,

the chasm of uncertainty you straddle 

forms you into a stepping stone

between a people lost and a pathway found.