|Echo Canyon at Chiracahua National Monument, AZ|
Bubble rocks bouncing echoes in the canyon, my heart so light that I could be the echo instead of the voice of origin. I could be the memory instead of the presence that feels the pressures of daily lifestyle; I might become the echo that is soft and faint and that everyone wants to hear.
In fascination we call out to listen whether an echo will bounce back to us so we can know what we said, what our melody was. Do we not listen to ourselves the first time? Can we not hear our own voice truthfully? Is this why we want the echo to call back to us the wisdom that is held within it?
Is it merely a copy or do the earth and rock and air and moisture imbue the echo with a resonance of wisdom our voice didn’t previously have? Is our pure self resonating back to us in return for the courage to speak?
Is the air heard in the echo; does it feel the brush of feather and cloud whisking the sound into a blur of memory, painting it into a clear, light whisper?
Is the rock heard in the echo; does it fill the space with solid truth and allow the weight of our words to be heard and sent on their way as they can never be recalled?
Is the water heard in the echo; does it mirror from puddles in crevices and dew upon leaves, and hold safety within the sap of the juniper and the flesh of yucca, where the fluid moisture can caress and soften the echo to return to our ears as self-love?
Who goes there? Where are the unseen?
Dragons of the watchtowers, holding the elements and directions, their vibrations sing to creation of our universe as they flap their wings, and rain fire, and live in caves, and cry tears of grief and laughter into the rivers that flow to the oceans above and below. They are courage and inspiration, partners in journey and growth, knowing the piercing truth revealed in the fires of transformation that create and dissolve then manifest once more.
Gaia cradles the beasts who warm our imaginations and keep us safe. She gives birth to the discerning flames riding wings of sheer breathless joy and She lands upon a nest of infinite possibility as their voices rise into space and fall into canyons to be swept away by rivers to the ocean once more.
Dragons live in Echo Canyon, see them swoop and soar among the magical spires where they epitomize grace and cast shadows we run from until we realize we can never hide---the dragons only want to carry us into awakening. Hear their ancient voices echo ...