When she rattles the bones of trees, leaves delicately descend, dotting a sky flecked with a shimmering golden morning; touching the earth, and naturally adopting the shape of their rebirth. I am awake. It is the magnetism to this comforting space that brings me here; every day, to begin my day. To my own backyard. With a cup of tea. This ritual is ‘memory’ coming into being.

Suddenly, my little dog begins barking, taken by a swirling in the air. She is here now. And she responds to memory. She is Mother Nature. And she reminds me that she is everywhere. And that what we choose to see in our hearts and minds is what we give birth to. It is like playing a game of cards. What shows up in our hands is always a surprise. And we can go about our path with any combination of moves. Any way we choose  . . .

This takes me back to a time when I was in Basque Country, a magical land which comprises some of Northern Spain, and some of Southern France. Their mythology revolves around ‘Goddess Mari’ - the goddess of Nature and fertility. Every Friday, the ‘Sorignak’ (a Basque name given to people who honour her) convene and engage in rituals of fertility. Of communion with Nature. Of ‘Rebirth.’

I remember a woman in a late-night café, sitting in the back corner of the room, playing with a deck of cards. She summoned me over. She sang to me in an ancient haunted melody:

‘Beloved day and night - Nature’s rebirth,
Oh, our honour we offer you.
With blessings from the mountains and the sea,
The cards of guidance guide us through.

By inquisitors we were burned and slayed,
Our fourteen thousand Sorginak,
Burying our language and our lineage,
To us was never given back.

So our heritage rested underground,
Asleep beside Goddess Mari.
The cards now live in standard playing decks,
And truly seen by those who see.‍

‍So if thee might passeth by gatherings,
We seem to play in joy and peace,
In cafés and in hopeful homes and streets,
We reclaim our soul, piece by piece.’

And so her song was sung – the ensuing reverberations in the room echoed the whispers of History, that held captive the cries of countless cultures crippled; by other voices of self-instated domination, dictating what is ‘good’ and what is ‘bad’, and discarding what was cast as ‘beneath its rank . . .’ That a people, or even perhaps beings of all kinds; had ceremony, had community. And the meaning awarded from these, this is how Spirit weaved the beautiful melodic contours of its breath; through us. Not because of us.

‘These cards are now yours,’ she said with understated gravity, as she gently handed them to me . . . Initially, it was like holding light. No big deal. But then, I was thrusted into a flash of the cards’ faces, depicting images of an innumerable score: the golden glow of the sun’s rays piercing the sky; gushing rivers carrying organic matter, transporting (or returning) them to neighbouring locations; bustling city streets and people going every which way, dragged around by the hooks of desire; thrashing oceans of ecstasy exploding from engorged organs; sap coursing down the bristly textures of trees, at agonisingly glacial rates; the unconquerable orchestras of lightning, forking through clouds in the night, discharging feathers from pillows of the gods, as some slept soundly, while others frenetically composed symphonies of existence; and finally, wild inflamed lava, rising toward the peak of the mountain, riding atop the gone beyond all there is to go beyond eruption . . . Her cards were a profound gift, an expanse of insight into what it means to always be in rebirth. The nature of impermanence.

. . . And so I make valuable use of my time this morning, and every morning, to thank Nature; and to pull another card from the deck, and remind myself of my place, of the divine, and of the great miracles that unfold moment after resplendent moment. My part in this miraculous sacred game is only beginning.