"ceremony for the seeds"
may you hear voices braided into earth
May you hear ancient lullabies from a stone
May you give your worries to a chicken
May you have a nap with bright-color-dreams
Today, I invite you to rest. That’s all. A small invitation to the source of everything. Rest. No phone. No book. No scroll. No list. No anything or its sister. Once the absolute necessities are done, rest. Just rest, like a seed. Be a child of the old ones.
“Houses at Murnau” by Vasily Kandinsky, 1909
Ceremony for the Seeds
by Linda Hogan
These are the egg-shaped gourds
from the old homes
of our people a thousand years ago
and they are in my hand.
First, I introduce myself, the child
of the child of the old ones.
I listen to where they wish to live,
ask them about the birds they need,
the butterflies, insects when they blossom,
and sing them the songs
people say are forgotten,
the words for placing them in earth.
I promise to protect them
and paint the house as the old ones did
with the flowers, plants, even lizards,
birds and vines,
and I know, yes, there is renewal,
because this is what the seeds ask of us
with their own songs
when we listen to their small bundle of creation,
of a future rising from the ground,
climbing the fence.
from A History of Kindness, Torrey House Press, 2020