A Loving Earth

My dad died in early August, almost a decade ago now. He died on the same day that my grandfather and brother were born. It seems strange that he would leave this life on the day his father and son came into this life. The day feels like a portal to me…to what…I have no idea.

I attribute most of my stability and sanity to the fact that my dad was my dad; he was grounded and kind, he never once shamed me, he always saw the good in folks, he loved the Earth, he was generous even when he had very little to give. Thinking about who he was reminds me that there is abundance all around us, an abundance of love and service and gentle tending, an abundance of resources and laughter, an abundance of this wild-green-watery-forested-deserty-magical planet.

August also sings of abundance: of warmth and play, of long evenings with friends, of chattering birds and ripe berries. (I like to tuck this time of year into the back of my mind, so that come the colder, darker months, I can pull it out and remember that warmth and light and growth will find their way back to us again.) This time of year, I notice how much Earth is giving us. What strikes me is that everything is growing even while I sleep; there is something so generous, so magical, about being able to rest and know that when we wake up, even more will be available. More food, more beauty, more life. What a loving planet.

I know that not everyone on this planet has a father like mine. And I know that there are people and creatures who cannot access safety, food, shelter, or sane relationships. If we are among those who do have our needs met, I hope we can rest in the wonder of being gently provided for.

And…if we find ourselves with excess, may we practice generosity…with the land, with other humans, with the more-than-human beings we share this living world with.

May you find some laughter and ways to cool off in these high days of summer. She’ll be gone before we know it.