Kings and Dirt

       

 I love dirt

        And dirt don't hurt,

        Only if there's stickers in it.

                                         

Ian Ray

5 years

I read this week that ancient people had a word for the living, breathing, sentient Earth, and her name is "Gaia". She feels, she evolves, she regenerates, she suffers and she speaks.  I have always known this about her. It soothes and grounds me to walk barefoot on her, to put my skin against hers; to remove the barriers that disconnect. 

You knew this too, Ian....didn't you?  You reveled in dirt and were happiest when you were elbow-deep in the stuff, because you KNEW that is where the magic things are. It was your kingdom and you the KING. Lift a rock, dig a few inches, and life found you.  

Found you it always did, in all its wriggling, scurrying, colorful, mysterious forms.....centipede, scorpion, grub.....fossil, rock, leaf....the living cells of our living Mother. You knew you couldn't expect them to find you, you had to look for them. You liked the smell of dirt, the patterns and shapes and colors of it. You would even taste it as a little boy.

When you were 7, and we had to dig a deep hole in our yard to bury sweet Bailey dog. When he was covered and prayers were said, you laid across the warm soil, arms stretched  in a little boy's embrace and cried into the arms of Gaia....cried and held her as she held you. Grief and longing spilled from you into her.  Each time you found a dead creature, or we lost a pet, your small man hands dug a hole tenderly gave her back to you.  My deep boy, I think you might know a little more her workings and her realm than many do. Her rhythms and ways came naturally and you recognized the patterns and the ways of her. Like your Grandma Kaufhold,  you found God in her. 

My young King of the dirt. Prince of lizards, grubs, and earth worms.   

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

But it is not always neat and tidy being a King. You're not measured by goodness, kindness, or overall stellar behavior, it seems.  You were just a little more powerful, like 220 volts instead of 110? Kind of like Thor or Hera or the Hulk; pounding and "hulking" your way through this place.....I saw that in you....not a peaceable soul....in fact a thunderbolt of a person.

Knocking over chairs

Offending

Affecting

Capturing hearts

Demanding attention.....

Rescuing maidens

Loving Dogs

Oh....loving those dogs

But never quite fitting in; never quite getting this deal of living with people who insist on wearing shoes. Grabbing up experiences, bossing people around (after all,  you ARE the King for Christ sake, people are supposed to obey...) Acting and living beyond the world's rules. No interest in fitting in (except a deep desire to be loved for who you are)

Middle finger to the the minions, the ones asleep.

Born to rule, an advanced soul, a King.....from the royalty of dirt......Tossed or placed, or choosing to come down here and be a bull in a china closet.  Born to stand apart, how incredibly frustrating and remarkably made you are, Biggun.

"El Rey" indeed. Named Ian which is Scots-Irish for "John", like the two eccentrics in the Bible, one standing apart, eating locus and honey and heralding the coming of Christ until his head gets lopped off...and the other a mystic, a lover of light and a gentle companion.... "My beloved one" of Christ.

I don't know why you were sent here....was it an experiment? You lived among people and did find your Earth family.

They "got" you and knew you to be unique. They describe you to me as different and irreplaceable.....they miss you Biggun.... yet they all say how frustrating, infuriating, and impossible you could be. The few people who got you are so dear to me. 

We remember your  kingly ways, 

and your feet of clay. 

We remember your royal ego and temper, too. 

You could not suffer fools.

Maybe it wasn't ego after all, but the 220-volted spirit that Kings seem to have. We saw that, our little tribe of Gaia.  When I sink my hands into to deep, rich, life-giving body of the Mother, I feel you there.