Surrounded by mountain, air, forest, sky, spirit whispers, the soft embrace of the dead, the unborn and the living.
Sleep. Just sleep. They said.
You can rest here, on my belly, said the mountain.
You can rest beneath my wings, said the sky.
Find your warmth and strength, said the north wind.
We will guard your space, said the dead, my beautiful great-grandmother and fiery mother.
Sleep, just sleep, sang my unborn child.
We welcome your space, spoke the spirits. And whispered. And giggled. And hovered. And went quiet.
So I rested.
It was hard. So much pain in my tired and stiff limbs. So cold. Find your warmth, sang the north wind again.
And after battling with thoughts, and fears, and physical discomfort, I listened to the mountain and the sky and the dead and the unborn and the spirits.
I let go.
The beating drum walked with me for a while.
In near-sleep, the mountain moss danced out its soul in auric ribbons of jade, pearl and corral.
I slept on the mountain’s belly beneath the immense sky.
Until the sun called me back.