When the Wild Speaks
Three Gods, one memory | Earth Day, Part 3
A Word from the God of the Wild
You give Earth one day.
I am Earth every day.
If you want to see me,
expect fear.
I am the panic that grips you when the forest feels strange.
If you want to hear me,
expect music.
I was in the reed when it cried to become the pipe I play.
Deep down, you remember me.
I don’t leave footprints,
I leave hoof marks.
But you
leave smoke and emptiness.
Make all the signs you want,
and hold them up.
But do you go barefoot?
Do you know which direction water runs behind your house?
Can you name three things that bloomed this week
without looking at a screen?
Are you present?
I do not ask gently.
I do not arrive quietly.
I do not wait for you to be ready.
Come back to the hillside. Stay until you are frightened.
I’ll know you are paying attention.
The earth does not need a day.
She needs you to stop being comfortable.
in cement jungles.
She gives you all. I ask you to act like you know that.
— Pan, Lord of all Wild things
A Word from the Lord of All Beings
You garland Earth today.
I wear this world as a garland.
If you want to see me,
be still.
I am the space in which you exist.
If you want to hear me,
listen.
I am the air you breathe.
Deep down, you remember me.
I don’t leave footprints.
I leave ash. And plant seeds.
You spawn indifference.
I do not hurry, I do not forget.
I stay, and watch.
You hustle and gorge.
Do you pause?
For the animal in the trap?
The river that has forgotten its name because you renamed it after a dam?
The elephant that walks forty miles to find water where water there is none?
The bird that migrates to a season that is gone?
Are you present?
Come back to the mountains.
Stay until you pause.
And feel the lack of shade.
I’ll know you are paying attention.
The Earth does not need a day.
She needs your realisation.
She gives you all. I ask you to accept it with reverence.
— Pashupati, Lord of Beasts
A Word from The Horned One
You mark the Earth with a date.
I wear it in rings of bone and branch.
You want to see me?
I am already here.
You want to hear me?
I am in the nothing, where you avoid returning.
Deep down, you remember me.
I don’t leave footprints.
I leave primroses.
But you
leave plastic.
I am where paths cross, worlds balance.
A balance you think to achieve,
but only disturb.
The stag grows and sheds his antlers.
The snake moults.
The river floods and retreats.
But you only accumulate.
I release.
Are you present?
Come back to the forest.
Stay until you return.
Return the leaf to soil.
The soil to root.
The root to hunger.
The hunger to life again.
I’ll know you are paying attention.
You call it loss, I call it passage.
You call it death, I call it returning.
You call it Earth Day, I call it every day.
Earth gives you all, and only reminds,
‘That’s enough now. Come here.’
I do not ask you to return.
I only ask,
what are you willing to forsake, so something else can return?
Remember,
nothing you are given was ever yours to keep.
I ask again,
what are you willing to give up, so something living can return?