Echoes of Divinity

by Jeanne (Pythia) Leiter

Before time began there was Gaia.  Tired of sleeping curled up in a ball, She

S-T-R-E-T-C-H-E-D . . . Her toes touched the outer edge of infinity.  Sensitive finger tips caressed the other side of infinity.  It felt good.  It made Her feel ALIVE.  Soon, though, the newness wore off.  She longed to find a position where She would not

be bored.

Exploring Her body with loving tenderness, she discovered a tingling when She touched Her toes.  Her body in an arc, finger tips to toes, She formed a Sacred Circle.  Unknown sensations flooded Her body, surging round and round until no hollowness existed within the Sacred Circle.

The solidness gave substance to Her body and set it spinning in the void.  She laughed with joy and the sound of Her laughter formed into countless planets,

stars, and suns.  And She laughed more loudly as a sun warmed Her naked body.

As Mothers are wont to do, She longed to give birth.  She thought a long, long,

long time about the problem.  She thought of colors, especially green, and plants sprang forth from the outer skin of Her body.  This pleased Her for a very long

time.

Soon, She discovered that the plants had no consciousness.  She wanted to be recognized.  She wanted something, someone else, to be aware of the Universe. 

She wanted to share Her joy.  Slick dreams formed fish and reptiles that swam in

Her waters and curled on hot rocks to bask in the sun.  They knew of their

connection with the Mother, yet it was not quite enough for Her.

She thought for a very long time again.  She concentrated on a small, fuzzy

creature that swung in the trees and made a wonderful chittering noise when

several came together.  It was so very interesting to watch the little fuzzies come down from the trees and walk on their hind legs.

They knew of Her existence and sang and danced Her joy.  Several women created hand prints on their cave walls.  Men danced around the camp fire praising the hunters and the One who led the game into their territory.  Women crumbled earth between their hands, watched the plants grow, saw the ground meal formed into loaves which fed the tribe’s bodies.  All watched the women as their sacred bodies fed life within and without. 

She was happy.

Concrete and asphalt coated the softness of Her body and She began to weep, Her tears acid with sadness.  The fuzzies, now grown smooth and covered with layers

 of artificiality, poisoned Her body, Her waters, and Her very breath.  She

shuddered to think what She had caused to happen.

In the hills, after the earthquake, a woman surrounded by like-minded friends,

knelt in the dirt.  Within their sacred circle they had placed a small round disk of wood.  Their altar held an embroidered cloth of silk beneath a ceramic chalice

 filled with water from a nearby stream.  The chalice sat in the western position. 

 In the east, a crow feather fluttered in the gentle breeze.  In the south, a candle stood sentinel (unlit for safety in the forested hillside).  It represented the fire of spirit.  And in the north sat a glass bowl of earth, dark and rich and full of the potential of life.  It honored Gaia, Mother Earth.

Celeste spoke quietly to herself and to the group.  “The dirt feeds the plant and

the worm.  The worm feeds the bird.  The bird, the cat.  The cattle feed on plants.  We eat the plants.  We eat the eaters of the plants.  We are one with Gaia.  We

are echoes of divinity."

         ~~ Jeanne (Pythia) Leiter