I remember a time when a handful of sisters would gather monthly in sacred circles illuminated only by candlelight.
Sometimes we’d tell stories, other times we’d sing.
And there were times when we would address the sexual exploitations of our women by men in our community. Sometimes this happened in sacred sister circles and other times in community circles.
You see, our tight-knit community distrusted the status quo and sought to create something beautiful, something sacred, amidst our toxic culture founded on entitlement.
We sought to be the change, at least many of us did. We grew food, shared food, and broke bread.
We entered the sacred American Indian sweat lodge together, and when the heat became too blistering to handle, we prayed harder and harder to Mother Earth, her heartbeat reverberating throughout the earthen floor and blanketed walls of her womb…
We reclaimed our tribe, a birthright long forgotten by Western culture.
In 2001 I left our circle to travel to new lands and experience new things. I miss it dearly.
I miss the sacred, elemental connection I shared with my sisters.
I miss singing with these beautiful souls, but as the seasons changed I’ve continued to carry the spirit of our circle with me – by singing my favorite of our songs to my daughter Sage every night for more than a decade.
Here’s that song, which needs no accompaniment, although adding a slow and steady drum beat – Mother Earth’s heartbeat – adds a hypnotic dimension to it. So does signing this in rounds with a handful of women.
Mother I feel you under my feet
Mother I hear your heartbeatMother I feel you under my feet
Mother I hear your heartbeatHeya heya heya…yah heya heya ho
Heya heya heya heya heya hoHeya heya heya…yah heya heya ho
Heya heya heya heya heya ho*Repeat several times, or move onto other verses*
Windsong
Note that there are a few variations of this song, but the songwriter’s version is embedded below. Despite my inability to carry a tune, Sage would tell me that she loved it when I’d sing it to her.
