I never could do a jig to the choreographed exercises like Zumba, but I can tap dance across a meadow, feeling as coordinated as a bird prancing on a wire. I enjoy expressing my unique style, whether in dance, or in life.
Michele Zirkle Marcum
Earth marches to the beat of Her own drummer, too. Deep inside Her core, plates slide and grind, shimmying the dance floor we find ourselves perched on. Her beat is steady, as relentless as the tide that returns, night after starry night, to transform the shore into a sea-shell laden masterpiece.
Sometimes Mother’s masterpiece is our catastrophe. The breeze she blows takes our breath for a moment, but our toxins threaten to suffocate her and she purges to survive.
She burps and we feel the earth quake; She hiccups, we see volcanoes erupt; She hisses, we watch waters whip into hurricanes. When She cries our streams flood their banks and our buildings wash away. It’s when Earth hosts these wildest of hoedowns that we listen most intently to Her message—Mother knows best.
Should this spinning ball of molten dirt we’re on ever stop her dancing rotation, we would all be tumbling dirt forms, spiraling through the atmosphere to our deaths—at least for a second. A second is the longest we could survive without Her life-sustaining properties. When Earth expires, so do we.
So, as we explore our habitats, each in our own ways—joggers pounding pavements, kayakers skimming across lakes and spelunkers repelling into caves –let us be mindful stewards. Earth plays the most intricate of rhapsodies for us, wanting us to revel in Her bliss, wanting us to nourish Her so that we are spared Her wrath.
As I write this, I realize I want to soak in some of that bliss myself. I sink my bare feet into the grass, Her melody galloping through my head like dollops of paint onto a canvas, traipsing over an endless landscape of possibilities. I breathe in Her energy, the sun stimulating a cacophony of Her elements from wind to whistling birds, merging them succinctly, effortlessly, and I begin to feel woozy.
My thoughts are dancing dizzy at the mercy of Earth’s heartbeat that’s reverberating like a drum against my feet—like the pulse in my ears, and I feel She is alive.
I stand, marveling at the majesty of our most gracious hostess who knows how to “Rock it out” when she wants to.